


Patriciate

by TwinKats



Series: Semblance [1]
Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Accidentally King of Haven, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brother/Sister Incest, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Gol/Maia, Implied Incest, Incest, Into Jak III, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of incest, Mentions of suicide attempt, Oh, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Keira/Jak, Past Suicide Attempt, Post Jak II, References to Jak's time in prison, Semi-Past Ashelin/Torn, Things get better then they get worse, and a lot of OC's, dealing with the aftermath, implied brother/sister incest, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of experimentation, mentions of murder attempt, mentions of torture, past drug abuse, results of incest, seriously, seriously OC incoming, uncertain future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”</p><p>If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice...well, he'd probably have made the same decision either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jak breathed out a slow sigh of relief when the burn of dark eco finally worked its way out of his system. He rubbed his temples in a vain hope to push back the throbbing migraine the shift back gave him, and straightened his back slowly. He could hear his spine pop, and in a way the sound felt like music to his ears. Jak twitched his neck from side to side, and tried to return his focus to the world around him. 

“JAK! LOOK OUT!” Daxter screeched. Jak jerked his head up in time to see the remains of Kor begin to crash down into the ground. The head of the metal head queen bashed right into the active rift ring. Jak cursed. He twisted around to dodge and saw the kid, free of the bubble Kor put him in. 

“Precursors!” Jak hissed between his teeth. He dove for the kid and the stone, and then rolled them both out of the way. The body crashed down scant inches from Jak’s back and knocked the stone from his hand. It bounced and came to a stop a few feet away; dust and metal head remains, practically showered Jak in dirt and grime when the body fell. When the destruction stopped Jak pushed himself upward. He looked down at the kid, who stared back with wide eyes. 

“You okay?” Jak rasped, ears slanted in concern. The kid nodded quickly and gave Jak a thumbs up. Jak sighed. “Oh thank the precursors.” 

“Yeah, let’s thank the guys who got us in this situation _in the first place_ ,” Daxter grumbled. He wriggled his way out from under Jak’s leg. “Yes, let’s thank them. Let’s not worry about _Daxter_ who just got _squished_ by your big ass. You ain’t light you know! And I’m small!” 

Jak chuckled. “Sorry Dax. You okay?” 

Daxter shot Jak a grin back and waved his hand tiredly. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s just not do that again.” 

Jak nodded once. He stood to his feet and dusted off his knees, then reached down to help the kid up and check him over. He couldn’t find any wounds, no scrapes. It honestly looked like Kor didn’t bother to hurt the child given everything, but Jak decided not to look a gift yakow in the mouth. Instead he just smiled, a sort of half quirk of his lips, and rubbed at the kids head. 

“Glad you were out for most of that,” Jak murmured. “Pretty scary stuff there.” 

The kid nodded, and then looked over to the stone. Jak turned to help out Daxter. He checked over his friend—even if Daxter said that nothing broke Jak needed to be certain. It didn’t help that, despite a year of having Daxter on his shoulder, Jak still worried the dark eco aura he gave out and how it might affect the teen-turned-ottsel. 

“I’m fine, Jak. Quit ya fussin’,” Daxter grumbled. He shoved Jak’s hand off of his head and scampered up Jak’s leg with practiced ease. Jak sighed in relief. 

“Good,” the teen mumbled. 

“’Sides, I’m the hero, remember?” Daxter cheered, and Jak’s lips quirked back up. 

“That you are, Dax,” Jak agreed. 

Neither teen noticed the kid toddle on over to the Precursor stone at first, not until little hands touched the crystalline shape and a flash of light swallowed the world. Jak paused. His breath hitched; the light felt _warm_ and _safe_ and a part of him hadn’t realized that warm and safe weren’t things he’d felt anymore. At first he closed his eyes, fought back the feeling of tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Then the light left, along with it the feeling, and Jak found himself hollow, drawn out and carved thin. His throat felt dry, and he opened his eyes to find the source of the distburance— 

The rest of whatever breath Jak had left him in a rush of, “Oh man…a Precursor,” spoke so faint that Daxter alone probably heard what he said. The kid backed up, stared at the glowing, tall elfin being. Jak quickly wrapped a hand around the child’s shoulder to steady him. Both stared in awe at the creature with identical looks. Even Daxter found himself struck oddly silent. 

The Precursor tilted its head. There weren’t eyes, but it glowed like a miniature sun of pure _eco_. A second’s pause settled between the four before it even started to speak. It’s ‘voice’ reminded Jak of the Oracle in the water slums, of the idols back before the invasion that he’d romped around with, with Daxter. It sounded rough, but understanding. Cryptic, but clear. Jak couldn’t breathe. 

“It is finished…” the Precursor rumbled, and Jak swallowed heavily through his dry throat. “Our ancient enemy is no more.” _Kor_ , the thing meant _Kor_. Precursors Jak felt a bit faint at the thought. He’d finished an ancient _war_ ; not once, in all this time, Jak thought about the fact that the war with the metal heads went on for far longer than Haven’s history. He ducked his head and pressed his lips. 

_He’d ended a war_. 

“Take hope brave one!” the Precursor continued and Jak’s brow furrowed. “The terrible darkness inside you is now balanced by a glorious light.” At the word ‘darkness’ Jak snapped his head up. As the Precursor continued he felt himself pale. _A light?_ No, within him Jak felt no light. Dark eco; all the remained, even now—the things that the Baron did to him. The pain. The suffering. His limbs burned with the substance faintly even in his day to day life. Jak breathed out slowly. The Precursor; it was _wrong_. 

For a moment Jak got the feeling that the Precursor frowned at him, like it sensed his thoughts and was disappointed. It felt like all of the beings hard work, all of its guidance over the years—the years in Sandover and then the year here of fighting and bleeding and hard work—meant nothing if Jak didn’t listen. Jak licked his lips, opened his mouth to apologize, but the being shook its head. 

“We will meet again,” it promised. The words rang almost ominously in the air before it turned and flew straight into the rift gate. 

From his shoulder Daxter hunkered down. His ears shifted flat and he glanced to Jak. “Weeeeell…” he dragged out slowly. “That happened.” 

Jak nodded, gaze focused on the ring, eyes wide. He didn’t notice when Brutter’s lurker balloon landed down with Keira, Samos, and Samos. The rift rider thankfully remained intact during the journey, and when Jak did notice—after a yell of, “Jak!” from Keira—he felt thankful that the thing survived at all. Thankful, and sad. 

He glanced down to the kid. 

“Jak, we haven’t much time!” Keira said quickly. She moved into his space and Jak frowned. He glanced from her to the ring and noticed how little of it seemed left. No, there really _wasn’t_ any time left, was there? “I’ve set the coordinates back to our village. Let’s go home, everyone!” 

Jak didn’t want to burst Keira’s bubble. A part of him _longed_ for it, longed for the beach of Sandover and the simplicity of life— _longed_ for what had been and not what was now. He couldn’t have it though. Not anymore. Not after everything that he’d done, seen, _faced_. Jak looked down at his hands, and then at the kid who looked back up at him. 

Could he condemn a child to the future that awaited him? Could he give the boy a scant few years of happiness, knowing that when he was fourteen he’d come _here_ , to this _hell_ and suffer at the hands of those who should have known better? To face _Erol_ and _Praxis_ and to become a killer and a monster? Jak closed his eyes, he breathed out slowly. 

“Keira…” he said, voice soft. The roughness of it eased away as he thought. “We _are_ home.” 

_‘Dax, this…horrible place. It’s…our world!’_  

Jak grimaced and then slipped past Keira before she could say anything more. He tuned out Samos arguing with himself and instead helped the Kid hop up onto the platform that held the rift rider. He gave the boy a small, almost sad smile. 

“You stay safe when you’re there, okay?” Jak murmured. “Remember to protect this scrawny little blabber mouth that you’ll meet. You’ll know him when you see him, and he’ll need you as much as you’ll need him.” The kid nodded his head, face set into serious lines that Jak himself wore. 

“ _Hey!_ ” Daxter whined and when Jak arched an eyebrow in his direction he mumbled petulantly, “’m not _scrawny_.” 

“Sure you aren’t, Dax,” Jak chuckled softly. His ears twitched as he noted that the conversation between the two Samos’ almost grew to a close, especially when Keira started to chime in entirely confused about the situation. He glanced to Daxter, who gave a short nod, and then the ottsel darted off to help continue to distract the three just long enough that Jak could finish his goodbye. 

Jak’s attention drew back to his younger self when he heard a snap of the cord from around the kid’s neck. The kid held out the seal to Jak, eyes wide and face stern. Jak stared down at it. This, this was _his_. This was something that was a sign of who he was, that _he_ was the heir to this city. Jak swallowed. Did he _want_ it? Did he want that responsibility? 

_No_. _No, it wasn’t fair to take it_. Jak closed his eyes and swallowed resolutely. He reached out and curled the child’s fingers back around the seal. He shook his head softly and opened his eyes. The kid looked up at him, confused. 

“It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….” 

The kid stared down at the amulet, and then back up at Jak. He nodded resolutely and tucked it under his overalls. Jak smiled, and then blinked. 

“Oh! Right, and stay away from any whumpbee nests on your ninth birthday,” Jak added quickly. 

“Yeah! That _wasn’t_ fun!” Daxter chimed in. He jumped back up onto Jak’s shoulder. 

“And whose fault was it that we even got in that mess in the first place?” Jak shot back, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Well I don’t know why ya lookin at me like that,” Daxter replied absentmindedly, but Jak could read the faint hint of nervousness in his best friends face. 

“Sure you don’t,” Jak chuckled. 

“Now boys! Enough yammering! My younger self has to get going before it’s too late!” Samos interrupted, ambling over to whack both Jak and Daxter over the heads with his stick. Jak jerked and rubbed at the spot with a scowl. Apparently not even saving the world, _again_ , got him free from getting whacked over the head by Samos. 

Jak backed away from the rift rider and gave a nod to the small kid, who nodded back before he climbed up onto the seat, the younger Samos already settled down. Jak watched them leave, a small part of him sad. He knew what future awaited the child, and a part of him wished he just _stopped_ this before it even began. 

“It’s funny,” Samos murmured from next to Jak, “but he won’t remember any of it.” 

Jak glanced to Samos out of the corner of his eye. “No…” he mumbled. “ _I_ remember the light.” 

Maybe _he_ would remember more than just that. Jak hoped so. 

* * *

 

It’d been a while before Jak exhaustedly got back to Haven. Exiting the nest had to take time; Jak and Daxter needed to protect Keira, Brutter, and Samos on their way out. Metal heads, even without Kor, were still a vicious threat and attacked on sight; although now they were uncoordinated. They had to rest frequently, curled up in hidden alcoves once they were free of the dank, twisted caverns that Kor built up. Samos _hadn’t_ aged well and if Jak knew anything he knew that he couldn’t push Samos. Besides, Keira would have his head if he even tried. 

Most nights, as they worked themselves back within communications range, Jak spent awake with Daxter snoozing away in his lap. His morph gun rested against his shoulder within easy reach just in case any metal heads surfaced while Brutter, Samos, Keira, and Daxter slept. He spent those hours with his eyes focused out on the world, watching, and his fingers gently carding through Daxter’s fur. The few times where he did sleep, he only did so when he felt assured in their safety. Even then Jak didn’t sleep for long, only an hour or two before he went back to his watch.

When they reached Mar’s gun Jak paused for rest. Daxter pulled out Ashelin’s communicator and tried to hail the Underground, tried to hail Ashelin, anyone. They were met with static and silence and a part of Jak worried that the metal heads inside Haven had taken over. Without Kor they weren’t organized, but there still remained a veritable hoard within the city when Jak left. Lips pressed thin, _feeling_ the despondency of his companions, Jak decided they should press onward. They air train had dropped him off a ways away and maybe they’d be able to contact someone there, or even better maybe someone already sent it on ahead to await their return.

They found the site empty, no air train, nothing but torn up ground and metal heads. Jak made quick work of the beasts and focused on the others. He built up a basecamp against the craggy rock, double checked their rations with Daxter, and set up a round where everyone would give a go at the communicator in hour intervals. They just had to wait, Jak thought. Someone would come for them. The fact that Samos agreed with him at least rallied Keira to his side. Brutter didn’t doubt him one bit, and Daxter—Daxter rambled in the way he did when worried.

It took three days more before communications came back. Three days of hardly sleeping, three days spent checking the perimeter Jak set up and rationing off the rations he had with him. By the time three days passed everyone, even Samos, began to feel like they’d been abandoned. Then the communicator, for the first time, gave something other than static.

“Jak? Jak can you read me?” Ashelin’s voice came through. It crackled and popped and some of the words were dropped, but the basics of what she asked where clear.

Jak snapped up the communicator from Keira, whose turn it was to try and get into contact, and responded. “Ashelin. What the hell is going on?”

“The communications tower was hit sometime after you went into the nest,” Ashelin said through broken static. “We couldn’t be sure you were alive until we got it back up. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah,” Jak mumbled. “Kor’s dead.”

For a moment there remained silence, and then suddenly instead of Ashelin it was Torn. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” Jak growled out. “I have his head if you want proof.”

“…no, I’ll trust your word on this. It explains the sudden erratic behavior of the mess in the city.” There was a pause where Jak breathed out a sigh of relief. “How are you holding up?”

“Low on rations,” Jak said. “We’ve also got Keira, Samos, and Brutter here.”

“The Shadow's with you!?”

Jak paused. He’d almost forgotten that Samos, the younger Samos, was the mysterious ‘Shadow’ that lead the Underground.

“Er, yeah,” Jak mumbled. “I thought you knew?”

“No! We’d been searching for him for _days_. For Mar’s sake, what was he _thinking?!_ ”

Before Jak could even answer Samos grabbed the communicator out of his hand and decided to voice his own response, words filled with the condescension Jak and Daxter were so familiar with.

“I was _thinking_ that I had important matters to take care of once Kor was dead! Matters that could only be handled in the nest!” Samos ground out. “Matters such as specifically ensuring that young Jak got to a place of safety so that he could grow up to eventually _save this city!_ ”

“Jak’s there with you,” Torn said, voice pitched low. Jak winced. “What in Mar’s name are you talking about?”

“Are you that blind, Commander?” Samos grumbled. “Even I noticed the similarities when I first saw them together!”

“You did?!” Jak blurted out suddenly. “You never thought to _tell_ me?”

“I knew you’d learn the truth if you just opened your eyes,” Samos grumbled back. “But of course you’d forget what I told you. In one ear and out the other, never listening to your elders!”

Jak scrubbed a hand through his hair and growled back, “Well telling me ‘find yourself, Jak!’ was extremely cryptic given the circumstances.”

“It was perfectly clear!” Samos defended.

“Perfectly clear my a—”

Ashelin, at some point, apparently got hold of the communicator again because her voice wafted over sharp and clear, interrupting Jak before he could even finish the sentence. “Explain. Now.”

“Jak is the heir to the city,” Samos said bluntly. “The child we protected was sent to the past to keep him safe from his enemies. He grows up to be the,” here Samos harrumphed out of annoyance, “ _hero_ to save Haven from Kor and the metal heads.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then, “Can you prove it?”

“Of course! Jak has the seal to the House of Mar, don’t you Jak?” Samos turned and peered at Jak determinedly. Jak looked away. “ _Don’t you, Jak?_ ”

_Well, shit_. Jak hated that voice. Jak hated when Samos used _that_ voice. He winced, and for a moment questioned his own decision to let the kid keep the only thing that was truly _his_. Maybe it’d been selfish of him, but Jak always wished he had something from his family, something from before living with his ‘uncle’ in Sandover.

“ _Answer me, boy!_ ” Samos barked out and Jak winced again.

“I…don’t have it,” Jak mumbled. “Must’ve lost it back in Sandover.”

Or, more likely, he never had it in the first place. Jak didn’t tell Samos that, though. Let the old man think he hadn’t, possibly, changed a bit of history on a selfish whim.

Samos, predictably, exploded. “You _what?!_ ”

Jak curled in on himself, ears falling back as he let the admonishments wash over him with a grimace on his face. Disappointing Samos had always settled wrong with him, and even know he didn’t like the lecture and the berating that he received. Perhaps he’d never get used to constantly screwing up in the old Sage’s eyes. As Samos continued, Daxter quickly rose to Jak’s defense and suddenly there was a cacophony of noise loud enough to burn his ears. Jak clamped a hand over them in an attempt to drown out the sound, especially as Ashelin and Torn joined in on the conversation.

It was Keira who put a stop to everything. She whistled loudly, loud enough to pierce Jak’s ears and leave them ringing. He almost couldn’t make out what she said, but he followed the flow of the conversation well enough.

“Even if Jak doesn’t have this seal thingy that doesn’t mean he isn’t the…heir…to the city,” Keira said, and she stumbled over the words enough that Jak remembered she _hadn’t known_ who the kid was to the Underground. Despite all the times that Jak had dragged him over to her garage to hide out from KG patrols when he was babysitting not once had he told her about the boy being a, well, a prince.

_Fuck_. Didn’t that mean _Jak_ was a prince, too? His head hurt from just thinking about it, already with the pounding migraine that threatened to put him flat on his ass from all the yelling earlier. Exhaustion, too, wanted to overtake him. He drowned out the rest of the conversation and settled himself against a wall. He curled down and dug his fingers into his hair, ears pressed back and down. He didn’t _want_ to be the heir to the city. He didn’t want the responsibility. If people _knew_ , if anyone but the Underground _knew_ —Jak feared the consequences. He feared being put into power, being forced to  have the lives of thousands on his hands, forced to command people who had so easily before _broken, tortured, changed_ him.

Somehow, through all the arguing and fighting and Keira calming down risen tempers Samos squirreled out of Ashelin and Torn the promise of an air train to come pick them up. At some point Daxter wound his way around Jak’s neck and began soothingly running clawed small fingers through his hair. Keira carefully got Jak up and lead him towards the air train when it arrived, shushed her father, and admist it all Brutter remained blissfully silent.

At some point, during the ride, Jak passed out.

* * *

It was weird to see the city so cheerful when all Jak remembered of it was the oppression and darkness. Heads were down and people shuffled about quickly, determined to get through their business and then return home, out of the watchful eyes of the KG. They kept quiet aside from the sound of zoomers and the KG talking of their radios, or the Baron’s propaganda commentary, the city had _always_ been eerily quiet. 

Now, though, it bustled. People cheered and moved freely. They embraced and laughed. They mourned through parties, rejoiced at the end of a war that had spanned _centuries_. They praised Praxis, Ashelin specifically as the Baron’s death and his crimes had been reported shortly after the clean up—and Jak felt like it’d been a kick to the teeth to find out it’d been a full week and a half before they’d even been thought of and rescued.

Tess had at some point gotten Ashelin to give her the Hip Hog, and then she’d promptly handed it over to Daxter. They’d conspired for a day or two and then the Hip Hog debuted as the Naughty Ottsel with a loud, cheerful celebration of the end of a year of hell. Jak let himself relax, let himself revel in being surrounded by friends and comrades. He tried not to think about his position, his _status_ in regards to the city despite that it followed him around like a lurker shark biding its time for its prey.

As Jak moved back indoors, settled down with Sig and Daxter—Keira and Samos wandered off to another section of the bar with Keira eagerly discussing what she was going to do now that they were going to live in Haven permanently—and Tess brought them a round of drinks. Daxter and Sig started off right away with Daxter telling the epic story of how they defeated Kor for Sig. Each dramatic wave of the ottsel’s hand and each exaggeration of the story brought a smile to Jak’s face as he carefully nursed the drink in front of him.

Jak never drank before. The entire thing felt like a novelty and a taboo all at once. The alcohol burned, but it burned pleasantly unlike the burn of eco that shifted around under his skin and through his muscles. Jak said nothing but Haven _hurt_. Breathing pained him, the air stagnant and corrupted, touch by the dark eco that the city used as a power source without abandon. Drinking water often burned down his throat, and even spending hours fighting despite that his muscles protested, that his heart and the beat of his own blood felt like fire, took its toll eventually.

The alcohol, amazingly enough, washed away a bit of the pain. It left behind a dull sensation of warmth that Jak sorely missed, but it didn’t fill the empty feeling that burrowed deep in his chest. Still the feeling was pleasant, and a reprieve from the pain. For the first time in a long time Jak felt himself truly relax. He leaned against Sig, let himself just _let go_ of everything. His worries washed away in a pleasant buzz and hum of Daxter’s voice and the warmth of Sig’s skin.

Luck reared its ugly head quickly enough when Ashelin picked her way gingerly over to Jak who dozed lightly against Sig. He felt his job was done, _he was done_. Ashelin felt otherwise.

“Jak,” Ashelin said carefully. “May I speak with you? In private.”

Jak blinked, and quite suddenly everything came rushing back. He tensed, pulled himself from Sig, and turned to face Ashelin. The pleasant hum of the alcohol beneath his skin kept him at least lightly relaxed, but the realization, the knowledge of what Ashelin probably wanted to speak about, now hovered back into his conscious though.

Daxter, at the table, fell silent. Sig looked at him in concern.

“Now, Jak,” Ashelin said softly. “Please.”

Jak swallowed heavily, nodded once, and got up from the booth.

“You okay, cheery?” Sig asked.

“Want me to come with you?” Daxter perked up, ready to clamber onto Jak’s shoulder. Jak shook his head towards Daxter and told Sig he was fine. Silently he followed Ashelin towards the back. He wasn’t surprised to see Torn there as well, leaned against a table, arms crossed, face set into a scowl.

Jak scrubbed at his face tiredly. The pleasantness of the alcohol left his system in a rush. He held up a hand to stop either of them from talking for a moment. Jak needed to get his bearings straight, his thoughts in order. Show no weakness, show none of the signs that you are afraid. Jak grit his teeth.

“Would you like to sit?” Ashelin asked. She took a seat herself up on the table, legs crossed.

“I’ll stand,” Jak said back and focused his gaze onto the two of them. “What is it.”

Torn huffed. “What is it, he says,” the Commander grumbled. “We need to figure out what to do with this mess.” Torn waved one hand, gesturing at the metaphorical mess he spoke about. “Without the kid the Underground’s claims of being fighting for the people suddenly become the talk of traitors. The kid was the lynch pin, Jak. With him we could be seen as people trying to take _back_ the city.”

“Weren’t you?” Jak shot back, brow furrowed.

“Of course we damn well were!” Torn snapped and slammed his fist down onto the table. “Without a real source of backing though we’re nothing but a bunch of traitors, fighting against Baron Praxis! Even with Ashelin’s support—” Torn cut himself off with a curse.

“What Torn is trying to say,” Ashelin continued, voice even and calm, “is that to the council and nobility I’m not a known ally of the Underground, and they’re quite aware that I’ve been ignorant of the majority of my father’s crimes. Even if I vouch for the Underground the majority will only see the harm they’ve done. Without the heir to the throne they’re nothing more than traitors, and more than a few would be all too happy to pin the blame of the metal head invasion on the Underground’s shoulders. They don’t have a legitimate claim to force change.”

Jak scowled. “But they helped this city!” He waved his hand out, exploding suddenly with anger. “They did what Praxis _didn’t_. They fought against the metal heads and kept people _safe!_ ”

Torn sighed. “It won’t matter. We’re still traitors in their eyes. The most we can hope for is banishment to the wastes and a slow death, the least would be a quick death.”

Jak clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He wanted to say that such a thing wasn’t _fair_ , but he remembered this was Haven. This was _Hell_. Of course it wouldn’t be fair, of course _nothing_ would be fair here. All those people, everyone in the Underground—Torn, Tess, _Samos_ ….Jak breathed out explosively and ran his hands through his hair. He slumped down on himself.

“What can we do?” he asked plaintively, and for all the world he actually _looked_ sixteen, bordering on seventeen. He looked like a lost and confused kid. He didn’t notice when Torn swallowed heavily, or how Ashelin stared at him with wide eyes like they both suddenly saw something that neither expected to see.

For a moment nobody said anything, and then Ashelin spoke up firmly, “We just have to prove you’re the heir to the city.”

Torn twisted, his eyes snapped open wide as Jak’s head jerked up.

“Ashelin you can’t be _serious!_ ” Torn growled out. “Anything we do to actually provide irrefutable _proof_ would mean reinstating the—”

Ashelin held up her hand and cut Torn off. “I know what it means, Commander, and if that’s what it takes…” she breathed out slowly. “Perhaps, in the end, it is for the best.”

Jak’s gaze danced between them, lips pressed thin. What would come would come, Jak figured. Right now he had to keep his friends safe, he had to keep the _heroes_ safe, the innocents, and all the people who only wanted to do right by Haven. Jak straightened out, squared his shoulders, and nodded once.

“What do I have to do,” Jak said, and that was the end of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire mess is Ashelin's fault, and everyone else is just along for the ride.

“This is a bad idea!” 

Jak paced relentlessly around the room, fingers dug into his hair making the mess that Jak called a style even worse. He pulled a few strands loose, lips pressed thin and dark eco boiling under his skin. Thankfully he’d yet to start sparking, but to Jak just the burn of the eco alone fueled his panic.

“Jak, it’s the only shot we’ve got,” Ashelin said. She sat cross legged on the couch, elbows on her knees.

Jak shook his head sharply, turned on heel, and growled out, “I didn’t think you’d mean something like _this!_ ”

From the wall, Torn sighed. He shot a glance to Ashelin, and then to the agitated teenager and shook his head. This conversation wasn’t going as well as the first, and Torn only figured it’d get worse the more Ashelin pressed. Sometimes she didn’t know when to leave well enough alone—Torn couldn’t fault her for it, really, not when she’d grown up with Baron Praxis as a father.

“Ashe,” Torn chimed in as Jak made another turn, growled, pulled out a bit more hair, and sparked with dark eco. Yeah, this was getting worse. “I think you should go.”

“Torn there is still too much we need to talk about, that Jak needs to know,” Ashelin cut in and Torn sighed. She wouldn’t leave unless she got her way, he could see that. He shot another glance to Jak and pushed off from the wall.

 _Ashelin, you’ll just have to settle for not getting your way for once,_ Torn though with a sigh, and then grumbled incoherently as he stalked over to her and pulled her up by the arm.

“Torn! What are you doing!?” Ashelin demanded. She tried to pull herself free, but Torn held her fast. His grip bordered on bruising, but for once Torn decided not to be gentle. If Ashelin lashed out at him, so be it. They could grapple it out right there, but if there was anything Torn knew it was that _right now_ Ashelin needed to be out of the room.

“Escorting you out of the room before the shit hits the fan,” Torn said lowly and dragged Ashelin towards the door. She put up a struggle, but not much of one. Torn found himself thankful for that. He didn’t want to find out who would come out on top in a fight. “Let me handle this, Ashe.”

“But—”

“No,” Torn snapped, opened the door, and unceremoniously shoved her out. “I’ll call you when he’s calmed down.” The door slipped shut in Ashelin’s face. Torn waited for a moment; held his breath. Would Ashelin push it? Nothing happened at first, just silence on the other side of the door. Then suddenly Ashelin slammed her fist into the metal; it rang loud enough that Jak jerked with a snarl on his lips, eco sparking around him almost like a cloud.

“I’ll get preparations ready,” Ashelin said sharply. “And next time don’t touch me like that, Commander.”

Torn snorted. “Yes, ma’am.” He waited a moment longer, and then relaxed when he heard Ashelin finally leave. Exhaustedly Torn ran his hand down his face and tried to muster his courage to face Jak. Honestly this entire thing was such a mess, and if it weren’t the fact that the necks of his men were on the line he wouldn’t have even agreed to go along with the crazy plan Ashelin and Samos cooked up.

“Sit down, Jak,” Torn said as he turned around, but Jak didn’t listen. He paced and pulled at his hair in equal measure and Torn wanted to wince at the mess that spiraled out of Jak’s scalp. They had a lot of work ahead of them, and Torn knew it’d be like pulling teeth the entire way.

“This is _insane_ , Torn. You know that!” Jak snarled, and twisted. His eyes were tinged black when he shot a look at Torn.

Torn shook his head. He made a step towards Jak, slow so as not to spook the teenager. “Look, it’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to. We can find another way. You still have a choice in this, Jak.” _Lying to calm down a berserker, not the brightest of ideas you’ve had there,_ Torn grimaced.

Jak’s eyes narrowed, and like Torn he could tell the lie when he heard it. Torn kept his face impassive despite the fact that even saying the words made him want to punch himself in the face. There _wasn’t_ another option, and Jak knew it. Torn knew it. The only reason why they were going through this mess was because there wasn’t another option.

After a moment of a stare down between the two, Jak snorted and turned away. He uncoiled a bit, muttered petulantly, “That’s a nice sentiment.”

Torn barked a laugh. “Yeah.”

With that, all of the fight just seemed to leave Jak. He flopped onto the couch, leaned forward until his head was between his legs. Torn never saw the kid before look so defeated. It didn’t sit well with him at all. He forced a calming breath out and took a step, and then another, until he knelt down in front of Jak and poked the kid’s forehead until he looked up.

“I don’t like this as much as you,” Torn said carefully.

“Thanks,” Jak grumbled.

“I don’t like that you’re not really getting a choice,” Torn amended. “It’s…Mar, Jak, this is a shitty situation. If there were any other way….”

“But there isn’t,” Jak sighed. “We’re just…gonna leave it up to fucking luck.”

Torn shook his head. “The Shadow is _certain_ you’re the heir to the House of Mar.”

“I was just some kid he took in off the street,” Jak said back sharply. “I could have found that little trinket you all took as a sign of my supposed heritage.”

“You could have,” Torn agreed, “except that the Shadow said Mar’s Tomb recognized you as the heir.” He watched Jak grimace, and then winced himself. Shit, he shouldn’t have brought up the tomb. Bringing up the tomb brought up the mess afterward and that can of kangarats shouldn’t be touched. Torn shook his head, turned, and sat down with his back against the couch tiredly. “I’m not saying it’s not a shitty damn plan. As far as ideas go this is the worst one I’ve heard yet, but Ashelin’s sure of it, the Shadow’s sure of it…and hell, if it works….”

Jak groaned and dropped his head between his knees again. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“You’d better start thinking about it,” Torn sighed. “Or we’re all fucked.” He paused, then added with exhausted humor, “Hell we were already fucked from the start, planning on placing a goddamn kid on the throne….”

“Was that plan before, or after you were going to send a four year old through the ‘trials of manhood’ that included _traps that can kill a person_?” Jak quarried dryly. He raised his head to look over at Torn.

Torn shrugged, “Hey, that wasn’t my idea.” He glanced to Jak. “For the record I was against that one.”

“Good to know you have _some_ morals,” Jak rolled his eyes. Torn snorted.

“Yeah, well, the KG fucks with everyone no matter how long you’re in for,” Torn said with bitter humor. He rubbed a hand along his neck and shook his head with a sigh. Next to him Jack massaged his temples.

“How long do I have, Torn?” Jak asked.

“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe?” Torn grimaced. Ashelin wanted to push this whole thing through as fast as possible. They’d only first brought the subject up barely the night before last and since then it’d been a whirlwind of preparations. Jak, thankfully, had been rather amenable in the beginning—at least until he got the full details out of the young Baroness. Then the childish petulance settled in and Torn found himself actually _missing_ Jak’s little rat.

If it weren’t for Jak’s insistence that Daxter spend as much time with Tess—Torn didn’t even want to contemplate whatever Tess was doing with the rat, it made his teeth ache—then Torn was certain he’d be right here. In fact he’d probably be a complete nuisance, but then maybe Jak wouldn’t have been ready to eviscerate Ashelin minutes ago. Or he could have egged Jak on, Torn wasn’t sure which it would be.

Jak groaned and leaned back. “Dax is gonna hate me.”

Torn looked over at the kid in surprise. “What? You mean you haven’t told him?” He thought they shared _everything_ with each other. Hell if he didn’t know better he’d have thought they were something more than whatever it was they were to each other.

“Haven’t really had the chance,” Jak mumbled. “He’s probably worried sick.”

“Shit.”

Torn could feel a migraine coming on. He didn’t look forward to the eventual, ensuing explosion that would happen _when_ Daxter would find out. Mar, this was turning into quite the mess.

“You’re going to give me grey hairs before I’m fucking thirty,” Torn grumbled.

“I thought you _were_ thirty,” Jak quipped back and Torn groaned. At least they were past the petulant stage now, if anything, which meant they could probably get the preparations on the road.

“Knowing Ashelin she’s making sure the council chambers are ready,” Torn groaned and heaved himself up. “She’s already gotten the tailor’s things and they’re in the closet.” Torn gestured haphazardly to the closet. “Which just leaves one thing for us to really work on.”

“I hate those clothes,” Jak grumbled. “Why can’t I just go as I am?”

“Because you look like something dragged out of the sewer,” Torn pointed out.

“I _was_ dragged out of the sewer,” Jak countered with a scowl. It wasn’t a lie, he’d been down hunting metal heads and barricading holes in the sewer system for a few hours earlier.

Torn shrugged. “Up soldier. You need a bath, then you need to get dressed,” and here Torn grimaced, “and apparently I’m now in charge of your hair. For Mar’s sake do you ever brush that mess?”

Jak was quiet for a moment, and then he glanced over to Torn with a sort of sheepish smile. “Dax uh usually does that.”

Torn stared at Jak dumbfounded for a moment, before he sighed irritably. “You, kid, are a pain in my ass.” He scrubbed his face. “Shower. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” Jak grumbled. “I’m going.”

* * *

 

Torn breathed in through his nose as Jak’s fingers, sharpened into fine points but thankfully not into the length of claws they could become, dug into the soft tissue of his upper thighs. He kept his hands on Jak’s hair, tugged and parted stands, and as carefully as he could worked in a de-tangle-r to get better purchase. Throughout the entire endeavor so far Torn had kept up a steady commentary even as his voice grew hoarser and his breathing harder.

“You should seriously think about cutting this all off,” Torn grumbled. He kept his face, his chest—every part of him except his hands and his thighs which let Jak know just how far away Torn was, as far away from Jak as possible. The still slightly bleeding slice across his abdomen had been warning enough the first time he’d gotten to close.

Jak grit his teeth and squeezed Torns thighs with a hissed, “ _No_ ,” that sounded more guttural and animalistic.

Torn shook his head. “Honestly Jak this is just ridiculous.” Torn wasn’t quite wheezing yet, but he found it to be a near thing.

“Then _stop messing with it_ ,” Jak snapped back. His head twitched, which pulled Torn’s hand, which pulled Jak’s hair, which lead to Jak letting out a sharp howl of surprise. Pitch black eyes turned back accusingly at Torn, who jerked his hands free.

“If you’d _quit moving_ this would be over faster!” Torn snapped, hands up to show Jak he didn’t mean harm. “And if you keep firing off that Mar forsaken _eco_ you’re going to ruin your clothes!” For a moment he couldn’t catch his breath, and Jak shot him a concerned look as his voice petered out into a hoarse whisper and a wheeze, but Torn stood firm. He was _fine_.

Jak huffed; the black didn’t leave his eyes and _Mar_ was it weird to see concern within the black of what everyone called a monster. Jak’s nails didn’t return to normal either, and his skin remained eerily pale. Still Torn found himself capable of once more working on Jak’s hair with a grumbled, raspy sigh even as the teenager shifted—this time thankfully just his body—uncomfortably.

“It sits wrong,” Jak growled. Torn could easily imagine him with a pout, eyes glued down at his clothes.

“Welcome to Haven nobility,” Torn said back sarcastically, voice just a tad stronger, “where everything is impractical.”

Jak whined and his fingers let up from Torn’s thighs. Torn sighed in relief, carefully portioned off another piece of hair, and began the torturous braiding and wrapping process that he’d worked so diligently on since Jak came out of the shower, dressed.

“I feel overbalanced,” Jak whined, and tugged at the channeling ring that previously sat over his chest. Now it settled square in the middle of his waist and took up a good chunk from his hips to his ribs in thick leather.

“Stop that,” Torn swatted Jak’s hands away from his waist absentmindedly. He sucked in a breath and it made a sort of whistle. _Shit_ , Torn winced, but continued as if nothing sounded wrong. “You’ll tear the leather.”

“This is _stupid_ ,” Jak said back, and shot him another glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah well if you’d just _sit still_ ,” Torn growled in response.

At least Jak didn’t feel like he’d go off on a hair trigger anymore. When they first started Torn honestly feared for his life with how tense the teenager grew with each movement. He didn’t want to think of the reason behind Jak’s automatic, practically instinctual response to being touched in what should have been a fairly platonic manner.

“I’m going to _fall on my face_ if I get up,” Jak complained.

“You didn’t fall on your face once from the bathroom to here, _Jak_ ,” Torn grumbled. “You’ll be fine.” He tried to catch his breath, and thankfully it didn’t hurt when he finally did.

Torn portioned off another section of hair and went to work. His fingers moved with long practiced ease through Jak’s locks, and a part of him felt greatly pleased that Jak’s hair was quite clearly designed for the twists and braids. If he’d had hair like _Erol’s_ there would have been more of a problem than a few new scars from clawed fingernails.

“Can’t we just call this thing off?”

“It’s too late for that,” Torn sighed.

Both boys jerked towards the door as it slid open. Ashelin stepped into the room and she looked hurried.

“Torn I—” she lifted her head and then froze, before she sharply shook it once. “We have a problem.”

Jak tensed back up and Torn sighed. _Great_. Couldn’t anything go just _right_ today?

“Ashe now is _not_ a good time,” Torn growled.

Ashelin placed her hands on her hips and scowled right back at him. “Well I wouldn’t have come in here if you had picked up your communicator _soldier_.”

Torn pressed his lips thin and focused on Jak’s hair and tried to ignore how stiff Jak was in front of him.

“Get on with it, Ashe,” Torn grumbled, silently noted how Jak’s ears pressed back, and carefully dragged his nails along the section of hair he’d already finished. Jak surprisingly relaxed minutely at the touch.

Ashelin shifted from hip to hip and looked towards the window, her lips pressed thin. She didn’t speak and Torn focused entirely on Jak’s hair which for now seemed to keep Jak for the most part _still_. He didn’t want a repeat of earlier, especially not when the kid sat between his legs and had already injured him as it was.

“It’s _missing_ ,” Ashelin said eventually, her voice practically a whisper.

Torn froze, and then with an extremely hoarse wheeze he said, “ _What?_ ”

In front of him Jak twisted. He pulled his hair out of Torn’s grasp, reached down for the small respirator that sat attached to his shirt and lifted it up over Torn’s face. Torn shot him a momentary glare—Tess _had_ to have told him to do that, _damn_ her. He could take care of himself! Granted breathing did feel easier with the respirator over his face, but having one of his men—and Jak would be one of his men Mar dammit—take care of him always felt a bit awkward in some respects. Still with a huff Torn took the respirator back and focused onto Ashelin. Jak’s hair was almost done anyway and it’d be better to get _this_ potential mess dealt with first.

 _We’re going to die_. Torn grimaced.

“Ashe, what are you talking about?” the commander questioned.

Ashelin licked her lips. “The seal. The one they use for—it’s _gone_ , Torn. My father must have—I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—” the proud Praxis heiress seemed to deflate almost instantly and Torn wanted to quit everything. Life, the guard, _this entire mess_.

 _I need a vacation_.

“ _What do you mean it’s missing, Ashe?_ ” Torn said instead, the words ground together like glass in his throat.

Jak glanced between them. “What’s missing?”

“The artifact that’s used to prove heirs to the House of Mar,” Ashelin explained. “Historically it’s been nothing more than a display really. The line of succession has never really been in question before now. At least not that I know of.” Ashelin turned to Torn. “It’s _missing_.”

“Praxis had something to do with this?” Jak questioned.

“We don’t know that,” Torn interrupted.

“But it’s something just like my father to do,” Ashelin grimly said.

Torn rolled his head back. He wanted to curse ‘ _children’_ even as he tugged away the respirator, it’s job done for the time being.

“There has to be something else, Ashe,” Torn said. “ _Anything_.”

Ashelin trembled. Dammit Torn wanted to drag her over to the bed and wrap her in his arms, she was Mar damned _trembling_. Ashelin didn’t tremble. Torn dragged his hand down his face and waited, ears primed to hear what she would say.

“It was the only option we had left,” Ashelin’s words were a whisper. Torn spat out a curse so sudden that Jak jolted and tumbled off the bed. Ashelin, over by the door, snorted faintly at the site. Jak merely lifted up one of his middle fingers in response as he pushed himself up with a huff.

“I _told_ you I’d overbalance,” Jak said to Torn.

“Why was it the only option?” Torn questioned. “Aren’t there other artifacts from Mar’s era laying around the city somewhere?”

Jak huffed from the ground, rolled his eyes, and pulled himself up to his knees as Torn and Ashelin talked. Torn wanted to tell the kid to shut up for a moment, that this was _serious_ , but he held himself back. Jak had _finally_ relaxed enough that his eyes were back to normal and even though he looked a little silly, clothes rumpled and hair half done, this conversation was just as important as Jak’s wellbeing.

“Any other artifacts have been missing since before I was either born, or,” Ashelin shrugged. “The only other two I can think of are the Heart of Mar or the Ruby Key, but both disappeared when I was a _child_.”

Jak, now on his feet, rubbed nervously at the back of his head. “Uh, I know where the Ruby Key is.”

In unison Torn and Ashelin turned, voices practically echoing, “ _You do?!_ ”

Jak coughed. “Yeah uh…let me call Dax.”

“The _rat_ has it?” Torn wanted to scream.

“No, _Tess_ has it locked up,” Jak snapped back. “Which was _Daxter’s_ idea.”

“How did you get it?” Ashelin demanded. “Where was it? When did you—”

Torn slipped off the bed, around Jak—he slipped his comm into Jak’s hands as he did so—and more gently than earlier grabbed Ashelin and pulled her out of the room.

“Question him on it later,” Torn said under his breath. “The kid’s under a lot of pressure as it is.”

“ _He’s_ under a lot of pressure?” Ashelin hissed. “ _I’m the one trying to make sure you all live!_ ”

Torn sighed. “Ashe. Not now,” he said sharply. “Just…stall. I _will_ call you.”

Ashelin stared up at him, huffed, and stormed from the room. Torn closed his eyes and knew that would just bite him in the ass later.

* * *

 

Daxter lounged on the bar, behind the lip where Tess mixed drinks for the Naughty Ottsel’s patronage. Ever since Jak waltzed in, told Daxter to spend the day with Tess and that he’d handle anything Torn threw at them himself, and then waltzed back out the ottsel moped. Occasionally he’d grab a bottle and drink from it until there wasn’t anything left, but for the most part he just stared at the acohol in melancholy 

“Jak jus’ don’ _do_ this, Tessy,” Daxter moaned again. His eyes remained firmly on the head of Kor that nestled above the mirror.

“I know shnookims,” Tess cooed back, “but maybe he just wants you to get your hero’s reward after all the work you’ve done?”

“Yeah…ya th’ bes’ babe,” Daxter mumbled and rolled over. He grabbed a bottle and pulled out the cork and took a swig.

“Anything for my darling,” Tess said back and scratched behind Daxter’s ears in _just the right spot_ to make him feel better.

They lapsed back into silence with Tess serving drinks and Daxter focused on the bottle between his hands—paws? He still wasn’t used to the whole ottsel thing even if it’d been almost three years now. Oh he certainly found himself better with the transformation now, more comfortable in his skin than he’d been when it first happened, but that didn’t mean Daxter didn’t miss being tall and elfin, or even the buck teeth. _Precursors_ did Daxter miss having his buck teeth. He never expected to miss _that_ part of himself at all.

“It’s jus’,” Daxter began again after Tess shoed a patron over to one of the booths. “It’s jus’ Jak’s not been ‘round since th’ party, y’know? An’, an’ that s’not like ‘im.”

“Maybe Jak’s taking a break, too,” Tess pointed out cheerfully. “It has to be busy work being your sidekick, right?”

“Yeah! Definitely!” Daxter replied. He almost knocked the bottle over, but stopped himself before he could. It’d be a waste of perfectly good alcohol. Tess scratched behind his ears again, and once more they lapsed into silence between them.

Daxter liked that he and Tess could just _coexist_ like this when it came down to the wire. They flirted, they enjoyed each other’s company, and then they could just _be_ with one another. It felt like a slice of home that Daxter sorely missed—now if only he could get rid of the ottsel _shape_ then everything would be absolutely perfect!

Behind the counter Tess’ Underground communicator began to go off. She said to Daxter distractedly, “Can you get that whiskerpuss?”

“Sure Tessy-baby!” Daxter nodded once, set the bottle down, and hopped off the counter. He furrowed his way underneath the bar and found the small device. He scowled when he saw the idea. “Ugh, what does the Tattooed Wonder want _now?_ ” Daxter grumbled but quickly smashed the button to answer the call. “Whaddya wa—”

“Oh thank the precursors, Dax!” Jak’s voice came through loud and clear, and Daxter paused.

“JAAAAAAAAK!” Daxter yelled and suddenly had the communicator in a death grip. Any vestiges of alcohol induced haze left him immediately. “Where the _hell_ have you _been?_ ” Daxter quickly launched into a full tirade, berating Jak for leaving him behind while alternatively demanding to know if he was okay and just _where the hell had he gotten his skinny ass to_.

On the line Jak sighed. He let Daxter go off for a little bit before he started to interject. Jak’s voice steadily raised higher and higher, repeating a mantra of “Dax,” with the hope of getting the ottsel to shut up.

“DAX!” Jak snapped in the end.

“WHAT?!” Daxter yelled back.

“TAKE IT OUT BACK BOYS!” Tess followed the raised voices and quickly shoed Daxter out from the front room of the bar. Daxter put on a show of beleaguered acceptance until the door swung shut behind him, both Jak and himself silent after Tess’ reprimand.

There was a moment as the door slipped shut and the hum of the Naughty Ottsel faded before Jak mumbled, “Tess is _scary_.”

“Damn straight!” Daxter cheered. “That’s my girl!” Jak laughed faintly on the other end. “Now what did you want from the great _Orange Lightning_ ,” Daxter drawled out. His voice hit the familiar, low raised pitch that reminded both teens of better days.

_“Let’s go back and see **the geologist** ,” Daxter drawled out in Jak’s ear, and Jaked huffed a laugh back._

“I need you to get the key and bring it up to the Palace, Dax,” Jak said. Daxter jerked out of fond memories with a blink of surprise. He stared for a moment at the communicator, as if it had betrayed him, certain he’d heard wrong. “Dax? Hello?”

Daxter squeaked, “The _Palace?!_ ”

“Yeah that’s what I—”

“What the HELL are you doing at the fricken _Palace_ Jak!?” Daxter shrieked.

“Look I’ll explain later,” Jak said quickly. “Just…can you get the key and bring it here? Please? Ashelin will meet you at the entrance.”

“Nuh uh, not until you explain your ass here buddy!” Daxter shook his head rapidly. “I’m not doing a thing until I get my answers!”

Jak huffed, and then growled a short, “Dax. _Please_.”

For a moment Daxter didn’t say anything, and then he sighed. “ _Fine_ , but I’m not givin’ the key to Ashelin! She’ll jus’ hafta escort me up to you where ya can _explain away_.”

“ _Dax…_ ” Jak didn’t quite whine, but it was a damn near thing. Daxter quirked a smile. Oh yeah, he almost had him where he wanted him.

“No way buddy. Do it my way or don’t do it at all!”

For a moment Jak didn’t say anything. Not a peep came through the communicator. Daxter leaned back against the wall, a smug smile across his face. He could already tell what Jak was thinking. He knew the blond as well as he knew himself, and what he knew was that Jak’s little brain right now just happened to be racing through the multiple ways he could attempt to wheedle Daxter into doing what he wanted. Then Jak would remember the ways Daxter would counter Jak’s wheedling and how, ultimately, Jak would give in.

“… _fine_ ,” Jak murmured, “but Dax? _Be nice_.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about me, baby,” Daxter laughed. “I’ll be on my _best behavior_.”

“….that’s what I’m afraid of.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait? (if you want the deets, see the end notes)

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in _three_.

 _And he wants this damn thing pronto,_ Daxter grimaced to himself. _Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh._

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he _could’ve_ asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

 _Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late,_ Daxter reasoned to himself. _I’ll make it up t’him later._ He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he _really_ _hated_ being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most _hilarious_ of the lot.

_“I think I found him.”_

_“Really? That small thing?”_

_“Well Commander Torn **did** say an orange rat, right?”_

_“I thought he was **joking**.”_

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s _ottsel_. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job _sucks_ ,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ _Orange Lightning_?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, _orange lightning_. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this _pet_ ,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be _him?_ ” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone _sooner_.”

“We should just _shoot it_ ,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you _want_ to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s _annoying_.”

“ _It_ ,” Daxter said sharply, “is a _he_ , and _he_ happens to be the one who _saved all your asses_ with his trusty sidekick _Jak_ who just happens to be his _best fuckin’ friend_ and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“ _Told you_ ,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to _not_ draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and _get movin’!_ ”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. _Now_ he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to _thank_ the asshole who called him a rat.

* * *

 

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on _riding one of my men up the elevator?_ ” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus _had_ to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“ _Mar_ you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does _that_ mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because _damn_ if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“ _What!?_ ” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean _we?_ ” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved _officially_ as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re _good_ , Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated this even with the thought of doing a weekly update. Unfortunately life happens and destroys all hope or something. In this case it killed my desires. I've been in such a depressive rut I couldn't even work on my novel!
> 
> And yet, as I found myself in Louisiana for my grandfather's funeral (PowPow passed away on August the 19th, 3 days shy of his 84th birthday) I found myself writing. In the midst of the largest bought of depression...I found happiness. Visiting that place, that house and that town....seeing all of my relatives--my great aunts, my second cousins, my uncles, my aunts; everyone. Talking and being surrounded by the unconditional feeling of family (even if I can't mention that I'm a guy, or that I like all manner of people no matter gender...) it was...a refresher that I didn't know I needed.
> 
> So while I'm still a bit in a dark pit, I'm...getting better. They always were able to do that--my grandparents.
> 
> As a note this chapter and the next chapter are all direct continuations of the same day as chapter 2. Technically I could enfold them into one, and honestly I should but, eh, maybe when I finally get around to editing this little beastie.
> 
> Chapter 4 is being worked on as I speak. I actually nixed a whole scene here upon realization it works better in chapter 4 (character focus shift!) Also in chapter 4 will see the sudden inundation of OC's. Oh the joy of writing nobles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for some (political) world building. Also introducing the story 'villain(s)'?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About an Update Schedule**
> 
>  
> 
> I know I'm shite at those, but I'm going to really try in this case. I'm even going to ask my roommate if I can replay her Jak II game (because I really need to get re-united with these characters and videos only give me so much on the frustration...also I really want to attempt Jak II on, y'know, hard mode. Because. I'm a glutton and possibly a masochist?) So updates yeah those are going to try and be on either **Sunday or Monday** , potential to shift as my schedule changes because uhm, I got hired for a job? Which is oh god yay because now I won't have 30cents to my name, I'll be able to finally get more dog and cat food, and a dog bed, and a new comforter....
> 
> It's a good thing all around. It's just...full time, and a call center. So it's new tome, but we'll see how it goes!

Count Nimat Veger stared down at the ground off in the distance with narrowed eyes and a frown across his lips. He tapped his fingers across the head of his cane, focus almost entirely upon the distant head of Ashelin Praxis. The entirety of the council and the ruling body of Haven rested just a floor below—they just finished an afternoon meal offered by the Praxis estate to apologize for the long delay. The council convened early in the morning and it seemed the young Praxis suffered from delay after delay for whatever reason she even called them for.

“Sir?” Veger slipped his gaze over to his young apprentice. The boy had come into his care following the death of his parents, slipped there at the behest of the Baron, and the only other remaining relative the child had young though said relative had been. Veger’d been quite happy to impart his knowledge onto such a noble lineage, and even now he found himself pleased with the results.

“Mr. Aksoy,” Veger murmured. “What do you think the young Praxis heiress is planning?”

Koray ran his fingers thoughtfully over the folders that he’d been instructed to hold onto thoughtfully. Bright golden eyes appeared pensive behind the spectacles that covered them, lips pressed thin.

“She wants to save her precious rebels,” Koray said carefully. “Especially ex-Commander Torn.”

“Mm, young love,” Veger mused faintly.

“Whatever Ashelin plans it most assuredly has something to do with them,” Koray continued. “She’s been protecting their involvement since before the invasion.”

“You think she knows the location of the rebellion’s mysterious ‘Shadow’ then?” Veger questioned, turning back to stare down at the ground below. He frowned when he saw three of the ‘Underground’ fighters each the palace steps.

“Most assuredly,” Koray agreed. His fingers tightened around the folders. “And that… _Jak_.”

“You think she’s protecting the abomination,” Veger mused.

Koray nodded, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “She must be. After all if he truly is….”

“It would be her best bet,” Veger agreed, carefully interjecting before Koray could finish the thought. It wouldn’t do to reveal their knowledge before the time was right. “She’ll want to use her precious Underground, don’t you agree?”

“Furthering her agenda?” Koray mused. “It does sound like Ashelin.”

Veger hummed and tracked the small rodent that rode upon one Underground member’s shoulder. It and Ashelin were obviously in some sort of heated conversation.

“What should we call them then?” Veger wondered aloud. “Something befitting their…perceived rebellion.”

“You mean something that Ashelin might propose to cement their trust in her,” Koray agreed. “They fancy themselves freedom fighters, don’t they?”

“Freedom League does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Veger chuckled, and turned from the window. He had enough of an idea of what would happen now. It seemed all so simple in the end.

“Sir?” Koray turned to follow after Veger with a furrowed brow.

“Do distract Ashelin and her guest for me, will you?” Veger said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll go prepare the…council.”

Koray nodded sharply and strode off toward the elevator Ashelin would undoubtedly use; it sat separate from the main council elevators, once used by the House of Mar almost exclusively. When they were almost at opposite ends of the hall Veger paused, turned, and called out to Koray calmly. Koray glanced back, eyebrows arched.

“I know you might want to,” Veger said calmly, “but don’t antagonize Jak. We don’t want to share our hand too early, now do we?”

Koray nodded with his teeth ground together. Veger in the end was quite right—they wouldn’t do to antagonize Jak and show their hand this soon. Not when there was much more to be accomplished, and so little time to do it in. Veger smiled, utterly pleased, and continued on his way with a faint whistle. Yes, getting a hold of Koray at the age he had was simply the most wonderful thing he could have done. Now to prepare the council.

* * *

 

The wait for the elevator took far longer than Koray expected. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve believed that Ashelin rigged the darn thing to stop anyone else from going up in it. However, Koray took this very same elevator not even the day previous and it worked just fine then. Eventually the elevator began to tick back downward to Koray’s sigh of relief. He waited until it came to a rest upon his floor; for the door to open and reveal the people he knew to be inside.

Koray stood stiff, proper, but he couldn’t help the blank blinking that happened once the doors were opened. Ashelin he knew, prepared to greet even. Ex-Commander Torn stood recognizable by the brat dressed in clothes fit for a king. Even the little rodent—although Koray never received the pleasure of making the thing’s acquaintance, and he doubted pleasure even counted there—but upon where the rodent sat….

“Rahmi?” Koray almost stuttered, face slightly paler.

Ashelin glanced between Koray and the Underground soldier; Torn next to Jak scowled. Whether because one of his soldiers happened to be known to Koray, or for another reason entirely didn’t matter.

‘Rahmi’ opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. The tinny quality to her words almost magnified her bitterness as she spoke. “I am not Rahmi. Rahmi is _dead_.”

Koray shook his head. “There has been no report of—”

“My brother _is dead_ , Aksoy,” she said sharply. Daxter threaded his fingers into her hair, a calming gesture normally used on Jak.

“Koray,” Ashelin interjected sharply. “What are you doing on this floor? Shouldn’t you be attending your Count?”

Koray visibly jerked, then bowed his head disconnectedly in a way that really showed he’d rather not provide Ashelin the courtesy.

“Ashelin,” Koray deferred politely. “Count Veger and I got separated earlier after the meal you so graciously provided. I was on my way to return, but the elevator….”

“Is _private,_ ” Ashelin uttered slowly. “This elevator also touches upon _private_ floors.”

“I had not realized.” Koray’s smile betrayed his words. Jak twitched, an eye glance to Daxter, a slight curl to his lips. “May I join you?”

Torn spoke up, carefully, “It would be best if you took the elevator down the hall, the one meant for public floors.”

Koray raised an eyebrow at the sudden presumption of the ex-KG Commander, especially considering to even use the other elevator when on one of the private floors you needed to be capable of entering in either a code—or of gaining permission. The private elevator needed a code from the first floor only, and all other floors on it operated without—Veger explained everything quite clearly to him when he first entered the Palace back when he’d been remanded into the man’s care.

“I had not been made aware of your reinstatement,” Koray said lightly.

“You are not a member of the Council who dealt with matters of security,” Torn replied calmly. “Neither is Count Veger. I am not surprised you do not know.” With that Torn leaned past Jak, and Koray noted how the boy twitched nervously and said nothing throughout the entire exchange, and pressed the button to send the elevator back down.

For a minute Koray stared at the shut doors, a scowl on his lips. He quite hoped that his distraction worked well enough for Veger, and he detested the utterly rude behavior of the ex-Commander. He rather hoped that Veger’s plans would lead towards the ex-Commander’s final fall from grace. He never did have any respect for the noble houses.

Veger just barely finished speaking to maybe a third of the council chambers, whispering his ideas and thoughts on the events to unfold—laying the groundwork and the seeds to continue the status quo eventually—when Ashelin stepped into the room. The entire council chamber hushed. Ashelin glanced over them all, much like a queen glancing over her court, and in response everyone shifted back towards their own respective seats.

Veger’s spot resided just a bit to the left of House Praxis, something considered much of an honor these days—and even before, when Damas ruled the city, House Veger’s position held prestige for their alliance with House Praxis. He settled down into his seat primly and sought out any sign of Koray. Veger fought down a frown when he couldn’t find the boy, not even sneaking into the room like a naughty child.

* * *

 

With everyone seated Ashelin nodded once, and took in a deep breath.

“To this august body, councilmen, councilwoman, and noble houses alike I apologize for the delay,” Ashelin said formally. “My preparations have been assailed upon all fronts due to undiscovered machinations of my father. This is not an excuse!” Ashelin held up her hand to forestall any reply. “I should have anticipated these problems in light of what I called you here for, but I digress.”

Veger had to admire the girl. She stood tall, straight-backed, and more often than not with her hands clasped behind her at parade rest. Her father certainly trained her well, he noted.

“The matters which I have come to discuss with you here today are in hot debate already,” Ashelin continued. “We’ve come to no true arrangement in regards to the Underground resistance members—” she had to raise her voice at the slight murmuring that grew, “—which is part of the solution I am here to propose. You’ve heard from Commander Torn, myself, and several other key members of the Underground that they’ve fought _for Haven_. For what Haven used to be—before my father, before the Krimson Guard became the boogeyman that the everyday citizen fears. The Underground has claimed again and again that they fight under the banner of the House of Mar—and I come here to prove that today.”

Ashelin turned, and Veger watched with anticipation as the door slipped open and Mar—oh the precious child grown up to be such an _abomination_ —stepped through that door. His head was held high, but Veger could easily calculate the levels of dark eco in his system vying just beneath the surface from the pallor of his skin. Oh he was surprised, a bit, at how Ashelin had chosen to dress the boy—he looked so much like Damas it was a bit of a punch to the gut. Mar had grown wonderfully, even with the dark eco treatments Praxis gave him. He stood regally, and Veger knew there had to be some coaching for that, somewhere. The boy he knew still acted as uncouth as ever—this Mar was a bit more graceful, a bit more like his father and grandfather both.

Behind Mar entered an Underground member, another surprise. She looked vaguely familiar—something about the russet color of her hair, perhaps, but the eyes were all wrong. They were a dull brown and not the fire-bright orange-gold he’d once seen in a similar face. Upon her shoulder sat the rodent—the _best friend_ from a time long lost. Veger kept his face as neutral as possible despite whatever he felt. He listened to Ashelin’s undoubtedly wonderful explanation.

“I present to you, councilmen, councilwomen, and noble houses, Prince Jak of the House of Mar,” Ashelin said, and the whole room fell instantly silent. Mar— _Jak_ —stepped up until he was even with Ashelin, and silently surveyed the room. “Prince Jak has worked with the Underground for a full year now, and before that was in the care of the Underground leader, the Shadow.”

“Where is the seal?”

Veger pinpointed the voice of elder matriarch Zoe who stood talk with her gray hair bound tightly into a bun. Her eclectic eyes practically glowed from beneath the rims of her glasses and she visibly seemed to vibrate. Veger pinched back a sigh at the interruption.

“Furthermore why you have you convened the whole council, and not just the sage lines as historically happens when succession is brought to bear?” Zoe continued sharply, gaze focused entirely upon Jak. “A mere likeness to the House of Mar does not denote an heir after all, as I’m sure you well know Heiress Praxis.”

Ashelin paled a bit, but Jak stepped forward. Veger couldn’t help but lean towards the spectacle before him, curious. He watched Jak bow—polite, actually deferring to the matriarch, interesting—and when the boy spoke well, Veger never did quite get the chance to hear his voice before.

“Matriarch Asul,” Jak said, and Veger found it delightful how Ashelin jerked in shock. Wasn’t the abomination just full of surprises? “Ashelin has convened the entire council because of the unusual circumstances surrounding this entire affair. I…lost the seal of my House as a small child.”

Veger paused, he had to visibly shake himself and he wasn’t the only one. The boy had done _what?!_

“It was some time after Samos took me under his wing,” Jak continued. “However Samos, Ashelin, Torn and myself have come up with a suitable way to prove to you my identity—aside from traversing the Trials as my ancestors before me, since no one but an heir to the House of Mar can be witnessed to such an event.”

“That and, well, been there, done that,” the rodent piped up. Jak rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Dax, thank you,” Jak huffed, and Veger saw a faint smile cross Zoe’s face. Interesting.

Ashelin took over from there, wrestling herself back under control. “Unfortunately this is where the delay has come in. My father had seen fit to remove all chances of proving an heir to the House of Mar.”

Shocked whispers wove throughout the room, and Veger had to stop himself from letting out a sharp curse. Dratted Praxis couldn’t even be bothered to display a fake!?

“Thankfully, over this past year, Jak and his friend Daxter located the Ruby Key, one of the few artifacts—”

“We know the Ruby Key,” Zoe interrupted. “Ashelin Praxis this august body has been waiting all day for this nonsense, pardon me when I say to get it on with. We’ll deal with the discovery of the Key, it’s history, and the results of this little show _later_.”

Ashelin swallowed. _Veger_ swallowed. He hadn’t realized the old bat had a spine to her.

Without any further words Ashelin nodded to the rodent, who pulled over a bag and presented the Ruby Key. Veger could already tell that it was in fact the genuine article, and he felt his mouth go dry. The implications only just began to actually cross his mind—no seal, an actual artifact from Mar, a true-blooded _heir_ —when Jak grasped the Key firmly and made the gem within swirl with eco. He then took it a step further and coaxed the eco out, a small bit of sweat on his brow told Veger exactly how hard this was for the boy, until his whole hand lit up bright red with it.

The entire council fell silent aside from Zoe, who smiled like a cat who got the crème. For a moment Veger swore she looked right at him as she dipped her head, and so followed the rest of the council—Veger himself forcing the deferential motion much to his distaste.

“Welcome, King Jak,” Zoe greeted calmly, “of the House of Mar.”

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Focus shift! Yes we're looking more at Veger this chapter and at Koray, a little OC introduced because bloodlines must continue. More about Koray will be revealed throughout the story, but know that he's not the only mysterious unknown to pop up...Rahmi and Rahmi's sister fall into this category as well. Zoe actually is a direct relative to a beloved character from Jak II (also an OC, did I mention Chapter 4 began the OC heavy aspect of the story?) and you'll learn more about each of these beauties as the story progresses and Jak mires through the political bullshit of being king.
> 
> In other words the lovely Underground gal Dax is riding on will be making more of an appearance, and we'll even get to know her name!
> 
> The politics aspect has been driving me up the wall, in part because the Jak & Daxter universe doesn't seem to follow a defined set of nobility titles. Count is technically higher than Baron, but a Baron was capable of ruling the city after the reigning Monarch as ousted. A new Monarch wasn't even applied. So there'll be a lot of working around, titles that might not make sense, but as the world building comes to a fore an explanation will be provided. Just understand for now that politics suck and Jak's doing very good at showcasing the knowledge he just got shoved into his cakehole....kind of.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodlines mean a lot to any Havenite, whether you were actually born in the city or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit introspective and less movement; I got through the first hurdle of just acknowledging who Jak was semi-publically, now to properly build up to getting shit done and going through the necessary pieces leading to Jak III.

Jak let the sounds of the Naughty Ottsel wash over him. He kept his forehead down on the table surrounded by his arms, a glass of whatever Daxter grabbed for him from the bar in his hands. Occasionally his ears twitched as he registered a conversation from elsewhere in the bar, but for the most part he let his mind drift in a sort of laze reminiscent of his time on the beaches of Sandover. Here Jak remained simply Jak. Not King Jak. Not Jak of the House of Mar. Just simple, old Jak who happened to absorb dark eco like water and turn into a monstrous beast when angry.

Jak never felt more grateful that only a select number of people even know about the kid, let alone the kid and him being the same person almost thirteen years apart.

“You know the Commander is looking everywhere for you?”

Jak huffed. “Isn’t everyone?” he grumbled, morosely, but didn’t bother to look up at the young Underground soldier Daxter all but adopted. He could hear her laugh faintly at his misery, or possibly at the irony of the situation. Jak sighed and shifted until his chin rested on the table. He debated the merits of nudging the drink over to tilt against his lips; could he maintain the necessary balance or would he spill the precious mixture all over the table?

“No one knows you’re here, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” she said. From this angle Jak could see her chin nestled in the palm of her hand, and he had to fight down a rather violent flinch. He couldn’t stop his ears’ twitch back, even if he could contain his facial reaction.

_Fire-bright, darkly amused stared down at him; a face nestled on a hand with a grin he’d begun to loathe, a twisted smile, pain—so much pain, so much fear, hatred—he couldn’t stop it. He tried. He tried._

She sighed, shifted, and turned her head away.

“Sorry.”

 _Observant,_ Jak grumbled internally. He let his head fall back against the table, if only to hide the sudden burst of shame that wanted to grace his features.

“I know I look like him.”

Jak snorted.

“You and a prick,” Jak mumbled.

“Ain’t that the truth?” she laughed self-depreciatingly, and Jak could hear her tug up the red scarf that almost all members of the Underground seemed to wear. He wondered, not for the first time, if it actually marked them or not.

Jak also wondered if the red scarf he wore—the one now tightly wrapped up like a hood over his hair, the one he’d worn for over two years now—meant to foreshadow his eventual membership into the organization. Such thoughts inevitably lead down the road towards questions of his own independence—were his thoughts actually _his_ anymore?—so he quickly stomped them down.

Still, Jak huffed another sigh and shifted to peer _only_ at his drink, she made for decent company—her uncanny resemblance or not. He just wished she were less observant.

“You never ask for my name, you know?” she murmured. By the sound of the way the cloth moved, Jak figured she shifted her head in the direction of Daxter’s voice. Jak figured by the rise and fall of a story told it came from somewhere over by the bar itself.

“You don’t seem to mind Dax’s nicknames,” Jak shrugged, “and you don’t offer it.”

She hummed, tucked her feet up—probably towards her chin. She stood taller than him— _everyone_ stood taller than him except for Tess, Jak admitted grumpily—but with better proportioned limbs than Jak’s gangly own.

“I’ve not really had a nickname,” she said. “Not one I liked before.”

“Dax’s good at ‘em,” Jak murmured, then shifted his drink closer to his face.

“You’ll get your clothes soaked doing that.”

“So?”

“Do you want to ruin your lovely red hood?”

“Drat.”

Jak let his head slip back down again, let the noise wash over him. Even her, the sound of her breathing and heartbeat, of her voice, he found more soothing than the time at the palace. He wondered if he could just sleep behind the bar at night instead of the plush bed Ashelin all but ordered him to use.

“Think Tess would mind if I slept here from now on?” Jak asked.

“I think it’s more if Lady Praxis would mind, instead.”

“Ashelin can shove it,” Jak grumped, and then opened his mouth to continue on when his companion tapped the table with her nails. It stood for the unspoken warning signal that someone grew close to listening distance who wasn’t aware of Jak being more than simply _Jak_.

“Hi,” his companion chirped, and Jak’s ear twitched to the sound of feet that _thumped_ and _thunked_ in an even rhythm.

“Hello there, firecracker,” Sig’s deep baritone eased what little tension that drifted into Jak’s shoulders away, and prompted Jak to raise a hand in greeting. “Hello there, cherry. You drinking yourself into a stupor?”

“I wish,” Jak growled. He sighed and sat up, gaze stubbornly and morosely on his drink.

Gorgeous, firecracker—whatever nickname people used for her in the moment—shifted over so that Sig could sit down beside her. Jak glanced up, took in the weary features, and glanced back down with a frown. Sig looked worse than the last time Jak saw him. How long ago had that even been? He remembered Sig at the party, but after that? Jak sighed again. He sighed a lot lately.

“You look troubled, cherry,” Sig arched an eyebrow, and Jak shifted one shoulder up. His arm twisted slightly, his brow ticked down—without Daxter no one really noticed the full meaning in the motion. “Boring, huh?”

“Close,” Jak mumbled, “and yeah, kind of. Not a lot to do, I guess.”

“Not a lot you’re getting to do,” Firecracker pointed out, and Sig arched the other eyebrow. “Commander Torn has Jak on ‘hero leave’ for the time being.” She even did the finger quotes and eye roll that Daxter would at the words, even added the little sneer. Jak would’ve called it cute, once, except now after all this time he found someone mimicking Daxter a bit creepy.

“That what he calling it?” Sig questioned with a snort.

“That’s what Dax’s calling it,” Jak corrected faintly, picked up his drink, and took a sip. Tess wandered over, dropped Sig off his drink, and then wandered away with a smile and a wink. “Torn calls it needed rest.” Jak scowled. _Ashelin called it getting caught up on all the shit Samos should’ve taught,_ Jak internally grumped. Like he even really wanted the lessons to begin with.

 _Precursors_ he was the _King of Hell_. Jak dropped his head back to the table with a faint whine.

“I just want to shoot things in peace,” he sounded like a whiny teenager, damn him, but he _hated_ politics.

“I hear ya,” Sig nodded, tipped back his drink, and sighed. “What with this crazy traveling embargo Haven’s got up and running I can’t go salvage crap.” Sig glanced to Jak. “Your friend Ashelin tell you anything about that?”

Jak huffed. “I’ve had _enough_ of Ashelin right now, Sig.”

“That bad?”

Jak scowled at his drink, sighed, and stood up.

“I’m going to go find Keira,” he mumbled, and started off. He only paused when Sig called out, “By the way like your new headpiece!” For a moment Jak thought Sig meant his hair, then he remembered his scarf and grinned.

“Trying something new,” Jak shot back, and slipped out the door of the Naughty Ottsel.

* * *

 

Keira peaked her head out from underneath the zoomer she worked on when Samos went quiet. She’d just begun to actually fall into a rhythm to the tone of his lecture, so the sudden stop felt almost jarring. The aged sage stood tiredly, a contemplative frown on his face, gaze off in the distance. Keira sighed, pulled herself completely out from under the zoomer, and wiped her hands down with a rag.

“Daddy?” she asked, a faint tilt to her head in curious worry.

“Hm? What?” Samos jerked around twisted around, the logs at his feet clacked noisily on the metal-and-stone ground of the garage. “Ah, Keira. Yes, where was I?”

“Daddy are you okay?” Keira questioned. She set the rag down on the bench and walked over toward Samos, hands snapped out to grab him by the elbow. “Maybe you should sit down?”

“Keira I’m fine,” Samos brushed her grasping fingers away with a harrumph. “There is merely a lot on my mind, so much to prepare…so much you need to know!”

“I’m not going to take up anything political for a few years, daddy,” Keira pointed out carefully. “Just because you and the rest of the Underground decided to…push Jak into this doesn’t mean I have to suddenly do everything either. I’ve got a good job here, a good thing going…and after everything that happened this city needs a good mechanic and some decent distractions.”

Samos sighed and didn’t resist as Keira moved him towards the couch set up on the other side of the mechanic pit. Kiera had the thing installed after the fourth time Jak popped up with the kid out of nowhere, intent on hiding from KG patrols. There was even a bowl for Krieg, the crocadog—although where the darn thing got off to Keira didn’t know.

“I know, Keira,” Samos said wearily, “I just don’t want you to be unprepared. I didn’t anticipate this outcome, and….”

“…now Jak is floundering,” Keira rolled her eyes. “Yeah, daddy, I’ve heard the story. Daxter won’t stop about how you should’ve told Jak something—even if it was just stories.”

“I tried…I did, Keira,” Samos shook his head. “That boy never listened. In one ear, out the other—if only he _listened_ then none of this would be the way it is!”

Keira frowned. She’d heard Samos make the same arguments, and yeah she understood his concerns. As kids Jak, Daxter, and sometimes even herself were quite willful. Jak and Daxter always got into trouble, always into a mess or a location they should’ve been well away from—a part of Keira worried about them, too—but in the years in Haven they’d grown up. They were stronger, older, and world-wearier than Keira even expected to see.

“Daddy…” Keira said softly, and nibbled on her lip. “We’ve…put a lot on Jak’s shoulders.”

“He’s a strong boy,” Samos waved off her concerns. “He can handle it.”

“We put a whole city on his shoulders,” Kiera pointed out. “Sandover was one thing, saving the Sages was one thing, stopping the Acherons was one thing…it involved travel and danger and fear, but daddy? This is a city. This isn’t just the Sages, or the Acherons, or dealing with Lurkers. There’s so much to Haven and Jak…I think Jak needs a break.”

“He’s fine.”

Keira didn’t believe Jak to be fine. In fact he barely reminded her of the Jak she knew. Sure the zoomer races made her think of the times Jak helped her test the A-Grav, and the few times she saw Jak on the hoverboard—it was like Jak surfing on land instead of off the beaches of Sandover. There were little things, small snippets of the fourteen year old boy she knew, but the majority of Jak stood as a tightly wound ball that just waited to go off. Kiera didn’t like to admit it, but she feared Jak in a way now. She feared what Jak became, what had been done to Jak these years in Haven.

“Dax said he spent two years in the prison,” Keira whispered. “That he spent two years looking for Jak.”

“Probably did the boy a world of good,” Samos harrumphed. “A little solitude to think never hurt anyone!”

“Daddy…” Keira sighed. “I…don’t think that’s what prison was like for Jak.”

Erol never once mentioned Jak being in prison, back in the first year that she’d asked. In fact he seemed completely unaware of who Jak actually was, unlike during the races this past year. More times than Keira liked to admit Erol came into her garage, charm and wit in equal measure, just to ask her about the mysterious racer whose zoomer she worked on. Keira didn’t mind gushing to Erol—this _was_ Jak, after all—and given Erol’s response at the time he obviously knew who Jak was.

_“Be careful, Keira. Your friend is dangerous, more than you know.”_

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Samos waved aside her concerns.

“If you say so, daddy,” Keira mumbled, and not for the first time wondered how long Samos sat in the prison.

Jak never did tell her just where he found Samos, but given the haunted look in his eyes it wasn’t anywhere nice. Keira patted Samos hand, gave him a wane sort of smile, and shifted over to her zoomer.

“You go back to work, dear,” Samos sighed, “and I think I’ll head over to Main Town and the Palace District.”

“Oh?”

“I have to reintroduce myself to what remains of the sage lines,” Samos continued with a huff. “Now that they know what I did in my errant youth there is quite a lot to make up for. Not that what I did was wrong; dare I say half this city wouldn’t be around if it weren’t for the Underground!”

“If you say so,” Keira said offhandedly, and Samos hobbled his way out of the garage. Keira watched him go, lips pressed thin. She looked back to the zoomer, and then looked away. Too much noise in her head, too many thoughts and concerns. Too many memories.

_“Keira, I mean it; be careful around Jak. He’s not the boy you knew.”_

Keira closed her eyes.

“Neither were you,” she muttered to the memory, and stepped around the zoomer. Maybe tinkering with the precursor artifacts were a better idea. Zoomers, right now, had too many bitter memories.

* * *

 

Halfway towards the Stadium and Jak decided not to visit Keira’s instead. He turned his feet over toward Main Town, and from there toward the upper noble houses. He kept his walk toward the shadows and fingered the passes in his pocket. Over the year he’d gotten quite the collection going. Red, the original card he’d found, then green, and then yellow for the areas connected to the agricultural sectors. Once, somewhere in the middle of the year when his rage started to mellow into something a bit less uncontrolled, but still fairly feral, Jak was given a pass for the upper crust of Main Town.

Now Jak found himself in control of two, but then he never did mention the first pass to anyone but Dax. He picked out the two passes from his pocket and stared at them contemplatively. Vin, way back in the early days, actually manage to lock the passes together into a wallet and Jak meant to use it—he did—but he always seemed to forget about the thing somewhere. Ashelin gave him something similar after being named King—said he should keep it on him at all times. Jak stuffed it into the sock drawer back at the palace in disgust.

If a wallet Jak must use, then he’d use the one Vin gave him—wherever it might’ve gone. He trusted Vin over anyone else with matters of technology, if only because Vin made sure Jak could follow along. Sure a lot of what the older man said went right over his head for the most part, but the fast-paced speed talking always felt like a slice of home. The way his eyes virtually glowed when he finally took off his goggles, the way they swirled like liquid blue eco, felt familiar. It reminded Jak that eco saturated blood _beyond_ dark eco still existed in the world. That there was more than just dark eco here if you knew where to look. It felt like a slice of heaven in hell.

A house, lopsided and more ‘old world’ compared to the metal walls set in square designs with neat and perfect gardens, loomed up ahead. It looked rickety, worn and well cared for, and still somewhat chaotic and stranger. Tubes, wires—electronic devices of some make or model that Jak couldn’t understand—poked out of holes and out of a couple of windows. The eclectic design felt reminiscent of the Blue Sage’s hut that Jak sometimes visited as a child.

Jak slipped out of the shadows and into the blinking lights of the house in front of him. He pushed open the gate, ignored the way it creaked and groaned, and slipped past the overgrown front lawn. The flowers were pretty, as were the weeds that had over taken it, and the few pieces of discarded technology that seemed to thrive with the overgrowth. Calmly Jak picked his way towards the front door, raised his hand, and waved with a sort of faint smile.

“Uhm, hi,” he said, and shifted nervously on his feet. “I’m…sorry I didn’t call ahead. I—” The door swung open before Jak could continue, and Jak closed his eyes. He took in a shuddering breath and stepped past the threshold. Behind him the door slid back shut, and when Jak looked up it was into the eclectic, electric eyes of the person he came to visit.

“Jak.”

Jak breathed out a heavy, shuddering breath. “Hi, Zoe,” he mumbled. “Sorry I haven’t called.”

Matriarch Zoe smiled softly, the drawn lines of her aged face gentle and caring even as she lightly brushed her fingers against the red of his scarf, as if to tuck invisible hair behind his ear.

“You came now, child,” she said carefully, “and that’s all that matters. That’s all he’d want.”

Jak nodded once.

“Tea?” Zoe asked. “I was making Vin’s favorite.”

“Yeah,” Jak muttered. “That’d be great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firecracker/Gorgeous refuses to give her name right now (I do have it written down, though) but she's not entirely oblivious, especially once her awe is out of the way. Her backstory will come into play down the road, somewhere.
> 
> Now introducing Zoe in more detail! Also tidbits and hints to things that happened, but were not seen. I'll probably write them up as oneshots (I'm making a list in a word document now of things I should write that are related to Patriciate and the Semblance Universe as oneshots or small snippet series)
> 
> If you can catch the relation (I didn't try to hide it) but originally Zoe was supposed to be a mom, then I realized that probably wouldn't work so she's been relegated to older sister instead. She's more like a mom to Jak, though, and obviously their relationship is a lot longer had than anyone knows~ (also eventual side story, so many....but this is world building, and that's what happens)
> 
> Also Vin is my favorite. Come on, who doesn't love Vin?
> 
> There's also a bit more world-building here, things that will make important points as the story progresses.
> 
> Fun fact:
> 
> As a bit of worldbuilding I've added first names and surnames to characters! Beyond that I've made note of certain characters surnames and tweaked things--for these characters they aren't surnames but House Names. Some house names of note:
> 
> House Mar [Jak of House Mar, Damas of House Mar]  
> House Praxis [Baron{title} of House Praxis, Ashelin of House Praxis, Baroness{title; Ashelin} of House Praxis]  
> House Hagai [Samos of House Hagai, Keira of House Hagai]
> 
> Other Houses that will make appearances:
> 
> House Asul  
> House Karga  
> Other names that are important and will make appearances:
> 
> Kara, Karaugh, Eichel, Azel, Prochazka
> 
> OH! And Daxter actually has a House Name! But that's a secret~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jak takes a trip up to the power station. He is not pleased.

_“Bring him home, Jak.”_

Jak breathed out heavily as he stared at the wreck that was the Industrial District. Daxter, on his shoulder, remained eerily silent as they looked out at the wreckage. Half-on-fire zoomers still littered the ground alongside metal head bodies, puddles of dark eco, and elfin corpses alike. When Ashelin and Torn flew Jak and the others back into the city nobody got a really good look at the damage except for the Stadium, Main Town, and the Waterfront. He focused on the immediate, and by the time they’d gotten back anyway most of the cleanup they already found accomplished. Now Jak couldn’t help but wonder if putting off this expedition for so long merely meant he attempted to hide from what he knew to be there.

Nobody mentioned the other districts, really, and Jak doubted they’d even want to. Not if the Industrial district looked like this. Jak fought down the urge to flinch and instead picked his way around the zoomers and corpses. Each time he passed a pool of dark eco he could feel his lungs burn as his body subconscious absorbed everything within reach.

“You gonna be okay?” Daxter asked quietly to his ear, but in the silence the words were frighteningly loud.

“Yeah,” Jak replied through gritted teeth.

“My fur itches,” Daxter complained.

“My skin burns,” Jak said back, and then they lapsed into silence. “We gotta do this.”

“Vin deserves it,” Daxter agreed, and ducked his head.

“They all deserve it,” Jak countered as he stepped around a mangled corpse pinned underneath a zoomer.

“What do you think the slums looks like?” Daxter asked, voice a bit faint. “The water slums?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Dax,” Jak whispered.

They continued the trek in silence, and Jak wondered how many people knew the state of the rest of Haven. Did Ashelin know the extent of the destruction? Did Torn? How many survivors were stuck behind walls and barricades of red, green, and yellow? Jak clenched his hands tight around his gun and girt his teeth. This was _his city_ for better or worse, now, and nobody thought fit to tell him a thing. They were more worried about his knowledge of the political scene.

“Shit, Jak,” Daxter breathed as they inched their way up to the second level. Whole sections of the walkway appeared to have collapsed, probably from some abnormally large metal bug. Jak sucked in a sharp breath and picked his way across the crumbling path. He made sure to set each jump down as gingerly as he could, and swallowed heavily at each ruined wall and zoomer.

“Yeah,” Jak said hoarsely.

“D’you think anyone’s trapped?” Daxter questioned as they slipped around a still on-fire Hellcat—how they remained on fire Jak didn’t want to know. All of the flames by now should be burnt out, right? “D’you think the fighting’s even _stopped_ here?”

“I don’t know, Dax,” Jak replied. “I don’t know.”

“This’ gotta change.”

“Yeah.”

Toward the last stretch before the power station, and Jak wondered how they even got the communications tower back up and running if the Industrial district still looked this bad, Jak monkeyed himself over a few construction beams that helped hold the walkway up in the first place, and slipped around yet another crashed zoomer. His ears twitched, some sort of faint sniffling sound—a gas leak, or water leak, or _something_ —caught his attention.

“You hear that?” Jak asked lowly. He crouched down and shifted his feet so that they were a bit wider as his fingers adjusted the mod on the gun.

“Sounds like cryin’,” Daxter said back. “You think there’s a kid?”

“I was thinking more like a gas leak,” Jak muttered and carefully stepped around the zoomer. He nudged the wreck with his gun and winced at the unholy sound it unleashed, which almost drowned out the frightened scream. Daxter bolted from his shoulder and Jak jerked with a shout of, “Dax!”

“Jak there’s a kid!” Daxter hollered back from the hole he’d wiggled into. Jak cursed loudly and quickly holstered the gun.

“Alright, alright,” he breathed out sharply and tried to shove down the twist of the dark eco, the _rage_ at this mess from overwhelming him. “Kid okay? Kid hurt? C’mon Dax, speak to me.”

“Scraped and banged up,” Daxter called back. “Broken wrist? Arm? I can’t tell. S’too dark.”

Jak scrubbed a hand down his face and closed his eyes. His breath shuddered and he tried to think of someone, anyone, that could be a calming influence. His mind kept on jumping over to Ashelin and Torn and the Council and possibly ripping people a whole new one. He grit his teeth.

“Okay,” Jak said. “Okay. Can you get the kid out?”

“Maybe?”

“Get ‘em over to a zoomer,” Jak instructed. “One of the wrecks, we’ll salvage it. Or something. I’ll check out the Power Station, find Vin. We’ll…figure something out.” Jak cursed. “Precursors!” He stomped over to the door to Vin’s Power Station a bit unneeded, but it helped burn off the twisted feeling beneath his skin.

Jak flexed his fingers and wanted to curse as the tips burned with the same intensity of his mouth. He didn’t doubted that his nails were now blackened, or that his canines elongated. He didn’t even question it, because the sparks of dark eco that leaped off of him as he reached toward the rubble that blocked the doorway told him enough already. He could feel his head throb, feel the burn of horns that itched beneath his skull. Jak let out a frightening roar as he tossed aside what blocked the doorway, eyes dark as pitch. He heaved, his arms and legs shook. Off in the distance he could hear a resounding crash and winced—he wondered if he’d hit a survivor? Perhaps killed someone again without thinking, without realizing—Jak hissed between his teeth and gripped at his ears—his scarf prevented him from actually grabbing his hair—and pushed the burn _down_.

 _Not now. Not now precursors damn it all._ It felt like a thousand ants raced along his veins and muscular tissue. Each breath felt like he breathed in gravel. Jak shuddered and moved toward the door—he couldn’t lose control here. Outside, outside of Haven, away from people maybe. Maybe. The Forest no doubt—he could find metal bugs aplenty there and truly let loose, truly let everything he forced himself to seal away _now_ free. With that silent promise Jak shouldered the rest of the way into the Power Station and had to stop.

Metal heads, metal bugs, dark eco by what felt like _tankards._ Jak stumbled, dizzy. The mere _scent_ of it all so overwhelmingly painful it forced him to his knees. He let out a faint keening cry and tried to rub his hands over his face, tried to ignore the way his body felt bloated and ballooned around his skeleton. Jak bit his lip, tried to focus on the pain and past the mess—past the burnt out consoles and the sparking electronics.

Vin. He came here for Vin. Jak breathed in sharply, coughed hard enough to burst a blood vessel in his throat and spat out what little blood gathered in his mouth. He shoved aside the metal heads nearest to him and looked hard for wherever Vin could be. He had to be here somewhere—somewhere—

A boot. Jak reached blindly for it, shoved away the two metal heads that blocked his view, and unearthed pants, a leg, an arm—Jak grit his teeth. He shoved away what he could and—there, there Vin lay.

“H-Hey buddy,” Jak mumbled. “Sorry it took…so long.” He didn’t know what Vin wore on his head, but it looked tacky and the design bulky. Jak figured it for some kind of last defense Vin made, not that it did any good once the shield wall went down. “Gonna…take you back home, okay?”

Despite the ruined state of the room, electronics, and the numerous corpses Vin looked almost pristine. Even with the tears in his clothes and the obvious killing blow Jak couldn’t find anything that even suggested the metal heads got any further than just _hitting_ him the once. He breathed out heavily and grasped at Vin’s corpse, before he hailed it up and onto his shoulder. Exhausted, dizzy, and definitely oversaturated with more dark eco than he could remember getting stuffed into his body for a long time, Jak stumbled out of the power station.

He stumbled all the way over to the zoomer Daxter hotwired, carefully arranged Vin in the backseat, behind the sniffling kid, and picked his way back toward the Palace.

* * *

Ashelin came tearing out of the Palace the minute Jak pulled up in the stolen and hotwired zoomer. She looked infuriated, but Jak ignored her in favor of the kid in the front seat, and Vin in the back. He helped Daxter get the kid out of the zoomer, and then reached over and hauled Vin up onto his shoulder.

“Where the _hell have you been?!_ ” Ashelin demanded. Jak brushed past her with Vin, one hand gently guiding the trembling child while Daxter held the kid’s uninjured arm and chatted soothingly away. “ _Five days_ Jak! I’ve been looking everywhere for you for _five days_ and _don’t you dare ignore me!_ ”

Jak slipped through the open doors to the Palace, carefully laid Vin down on one of the couches in the open foyer that served both as a trophy room for Baron Praxis back when he had control, and a receiving room that intimidated guests. The woman behind the front counter gasped at the sight of the corpse, and at the way Jak carefully handled it. Not even a second after making sure Vin’s body lay comfortably did the elevator doors open and Zoe come tearing through them faster than anyone her age should. Jak looked up at her, still ignoring Ashelin’s continued tirade, and tiredly spoke up for the first time since he unearthed Vin’s corpse.

“I brought him home, Zoe,” Jak breathed out. Ashelin fell completely silent when he spoke. “Like I promised.”

Zoe stumbled as she slowed down, and then without heed to her clothes or how it might look to others, she threw herself over towards Vin’s corpse and let herself cry. Jak closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and breathed out sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes he directed them right to Ashelin, and she could see the purple bleeding black that began to overtake them.

“We need to talk,” Jak said, and his voice sounded a bit rougher. “Now, Ashelin.”

Ashelin swallowed heavily, glanced to Vin and the sobbing Matriarch that named Jak King back in the council chambers almost a week ago, and without a word promptly turned on heel and headed toward the elevators. Jak nudged the boy at his side along and gestured to the receptionist calmly.

“Lyra, get a hold of Samos and bring him here,” Jak said, eyes hard as he tugged his scarf off from his head. “Have a couple of packs of green eco delivered upstairs with him.”

Lyra the receptionist nodded quickly and Jak followed Ashelin into the elevator with the kid and Daxter. Ashelin stood stiff off to the side, and she looked fit to burst but kept her mouth shut. Jak felt grateful for that; he knew he looked frightening at the moment. With forced calm Jak settled against the back rail of the elevator, watched the doors slid shut, and waited. It didn’t even take a minute before Ashelin whirled around.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city remained in ruins?” Jak said slowly. He side-eyed Ashelin who looked like she swallowed a lemon for a moment. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that _half the city hadn’t been cleaned up?_ ”

“We’ve been busy—” Ashelin started.

“Going over useless crap,” Jak spat. “How many people are trapped, Ashelin, without food, water, or supplies?” He turned fully this time, teeth ground together. “How many injured? How many dead?”

“Jak that isn’t—”

“ _You made me King!”_

Ashelin jerked back, and the kid at Jak’s side whimpered. Jak breathed out slowly, closed his eyes, and forced the burn of eco back. He clenched one hand at his side and kept the other relaxed enough to rub soothing circles against the kid’s back.

“You made me King, Ashelin,” Jak said softer. When he opened his eyes they were barely tinged purple. “You put me in charge of this entire city. Do you think I care about learning the most prominent families when there are still people _dying_ out there?”

“We drop supplies regularly,” Ashelin said. She kept her voice soft, almost soothing. “Shipments of food, water, anything we can spare.”

“Spare?” Jak shook his head. “Out of all the districts which ones do you think were hit the hardest? Main Town? The noble houses? The Waterfront? The Stadium? Or was it the Industrial district? The Bazaar? The slums?”

Ashelin swallowed.

“How many people are trapped in buildings half collapsed, starving and drying from disease and dark eco poisoning? How many children?” Jak questioned, lips pressed thin. “The shield wall hasn’t even been fully repaired yet, how many metal heads still roam streets? How many people die while you force me to learn _useless facts_ about a government _that sits on its laurals?_ ”

“Jak…” Ashelin picked her words carefully. “You have…you can’t make changes so easily. There’s protocols…the council has to approve things—I have a point to this, Jak. I do.”

Jak turned away.

“Get together the Underground, their _KG minders_ , and start cleaning up the other districts,” Jak said. He completely ignored Ashelin’s words. “Starting with the industrial sections. We _need_ that shield up and fully functional. Move refugees to the Waterfront and Stadium, and Main Town.”

“Jak you can’t—”

“Are you in charge of the KG or not, Lady Praxis?” Jak demanded sharply and Ashelin fell silent. “Am I not your King?” She swallowed, the doors to the elevator opened, and Jak carefully ushered the kid out. “Go and start recovery efforts. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“But what will we—”

“I’ll handle it.”

Ashelin shoved herself toward the elevator doors before they could close.

“How?!” she demanded. “How will you handle it?”

Jak paused, then glanced back at her. “You have three hours to get the KG and the Underground moving. In three hours everyone from the Sage lines will meet here for an emergency session. Am I clear?”

“But—”

“Am I clear, Ashelin?” Jak demanded, tone a bit sharper, and Ashelin jerked.

“Yes,” she bit out. Jak nodded, turned back around, and led the kid toward his rooms. He kept the careful façade of calm the rest of the way. There was way too much to do, right now, and first priority was to make sure the kid was healed up and had a place to go. He’d deal with everything else—and whether they listened—after that.

* * *

Ashelin stomped into her rooms within the Palace, a veritable cloud of rage storming around her. She breezed past the couch where Torn lounged, face drawn and tired as he stared at the television without really seeing it. She practically stomped all the way to her office and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. On the couch Torn pulled his hands over his face, twisted around, and got to his feet.

“Ashe?” Torn called. He leaned his back against the office door and knocked. “Ashe?” He could hear a thump, and the door rattled a bit. Torn sighed. “Don’t throw shit at the door, Ashe.”

“Fuck off!”

Torn groaned. “Ashelin what is going on?” The door shook again, and this time Torn could hear something shatter. Within the office Ashelin cursed, and wisely Torn shifted from the path of the doorway just in time for a knife to slice through it. “Ashelin what the _hell_ is going on?”

For a moment, silence, and then the door yanked open and Ashelin stared at Torn with fury. The red of her eyes almost twisted with the eco Torn knew resided within her very blood, and Torn wanted to grimace. Out of everyone that he or Ashelin knew only a small handful of people could get her this worked up, and given the way things recently worked out Torn could bet on at least two people who pissed Ashelin off.

“Where is he?” Torn asked, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even dressed for this shit right.

“In his rooms,” Ashelin ground out.

“And what did he do?” Torn asked. _Besides disappear for five days_. Ashelin stared at Torn for a long moment, then closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Torn relaxed the slightest bit; if Ashelin was trying to calm herself then whatever it was definitely meant good things down the road.

That didn’t mean of course whatever got her pissed wasn’t good for the immediate situation.

“I have been commanded to move out the Underground and the KG,” Ashelin said, and her teeth were grit together.

Torn breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. “Well,” he said tiredly, “it was only a matter of time before he found out.”

“We don’t have the manpower for a rescue!” Ashelin practically shrieked. Torn jerked away from her and frowned.

“We don’t have the manpower because over half of our forces are still _trapped_ and in need of that rescue, Ashe.” Ashelin’s mouth clicked shut. “You and I both know that we should have taken care of the other districts over a _week_ ago.”

“But the council—” Ashelin protested.

“The council only cares for its own interests,” Torn pointed out. “Ashe, you know this.”

Ashelin looked away and scowled.

“Are you upset he gave you an order, or are you upset you couldn’t get this done yourself?” Torn quarried, one eyebrow raised.

“Shut up, Torn,” Ashelin grumbled. Torn smirked and Ashelin punched him in the arm. “Help me get the word out. I’ve got less than three hours.”

Torn blinked. Jak put a time limit on this? That the Commander hadn’t expected. Cautiously he asked, “Why?”

“Jak’s called an emergency session for the Sage lines,” Ashelin breathed out slowly. “All remaining direct descendants are required to attend.”

Torn nodded. If anything it made sense, although he wondered how Jak knew to even call for an emergency session. Ashelin hadn’t gotten around to discussing what emergency sessions entailed, or the reasons to even call on them yet as far as Torn knew. He cokced his head as he thought about that, and then as the reason for the session abruptly clicked. Torn wanted to laugh.

“Fuck, Mar, no wonder the kid doesn’t want to listen to political ramblings,” he said as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Ashelin, halfway back into her office, turned around. “What does that mean?!”

“Ashe, he knows _Zoe_ ,” Torn said with a snort. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. _Mar_.” Ashelin blinked, took a second to think it over, then cursed.

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Torn!?” she demanded, decided it wouldn’t be worth it to have the argument when she had work to do, and turned around to finish fishing out the jury-rigged communications system that’d gotten buried.

“I didn’t think of it,” Torn protested. “Mar, I didn’t even realize how much like King Damas Jak even _looked_ until after I finished up his hair. Put him in front of Zoe, someone who knew King Damas as a _kid?_ ” In retrospect the whole thing was actually obvious, but Torn couldn’t fault himself for not knowing. King Damas had been ousted when he was a kid and he could barely remember what the last monarch looked like—almost all materials on him had been removed. Plus Torn’s duties kept growing—keep Jak safe, deal with the emergency protocols and responses for the KG and the Underground, help with rescue operations—so he couldn’t be aware of everything.

“Fine! I wasted a week then!”

Torn rolled his eyes and moved back over toward the couch. He picked up his jacket and the breathing apparatus that attached to it, and calmly began to shrug the clothing back on. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“Torn, just get the word out!”

“Yes ma’am,” Torn replied sarcastically. He slipped out the door before Ashelin could say anything, fingers already tightening the jacket closed. He shook his head; Jak never ceased to amaze him on the amount of trouble he got into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee, a bit more stuff getting done. We're kind of lazing for a brief bit and then WHAM. But things will tick up and down as stuff gets done and then stuff doesn't. At any rate we're not even really into the plot of the story yet, but we'll hit it soon don't worry~ Until then bear with the quiet moments and the moments of action.
> 
> As for the state of the power station--well, Vin will explain it all himself when he shows his face. For now he most likely can't, given the state of the power station itself....


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samos, the mysterious firecracker, and Keira. Choices, or the lackthereof.

Samos frowned. A week of no word from the boy, and then quite suddenly Jak set the secretary upon him. Green eco, his channeling abilities, and health packs? What in the world had the boys gotten themselves into _now?_ Tiredly, and completely frustrated, Samos clacked into Jak’s rooms without so much as a by-your-leave. In one hand he had the standard medical kit; on a floating discus suspended with an A-Grav unit were a few packs of green eco Jak ordered. Samos couldn’t understand what the boy did this time, but he whatever it was he knew he’d be cleaning up after Jak for some time. Such was the way of the world.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Samos demanded, barely one foot into the door. “You disappear for precursors know, and pop back up only when you’re in need of healing? You have responsibilities, Jak! You can’t go and wonder off all willy-nilly!”

Jak looked up from where he’d been bent over, focused on a small child who sat on the edge of the couch in the sitting room. For one moment Samos found himself treated to an arched eyebrow, some form of silent communication that had _Daxter_ staring at Jak in awe, and then he watched Jak’s ears slump back the way they did when chastised. Samos harrumphed to himself and peered at the boy on the couch.

“And who is this?” Samos demanded. He set his bag down near the armrest and peered at the child. To himself he tsked, noted the broken wrist and possible sprained or dislocated shoulder with distaste. If things weren’t bad enough the child smelled horrendous and looked like he hadn’t even washed. “Some sort of stray? Honestly, Jak, you can’t bring just anyone in here! There are protocols, and your safety to think about. Where even are the boy’s parents?”

Jak sighed, a near silent sound, and Samos frowned at him harder. Daxter and Jak shared a glance, a few silent words that had Samos ready to berate the boys further with a grumble of, “Use your words, I know you can!” but then Jak looked at the boy critically before Samos could say anything and turned back to the sage with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” Jak said. “No. I don’t really care. Probably dead.”

“And just where did you find him?” Samos demanded. He carefully pried open one of the crates of eco.

“The Industrial District.”

Samos paused, looked at Jak, then harrumphed again. “Honestly what were you doing there?”

“Retrieving Vin for Zoe,” Jak said shortly again. Samos paused, a thoughtful frown crossed his face, and then he nodded. He knew what Vin meant to Jak—the few times they actually got to talk—and Jak speaking still felt a bit like a novelty, although Samos always knew the boy could use his words and he didn’t understand just why he never chose to before—Jak often would speak of Vin and how Vin reminded him of the old Blue Sage.

“I see,” Samos grumbled. “Well? Are you going to help me or not?” When Jak stared at him blankly he huffed and motioned toward the green eco. “Channeling boy! Come now, there’s not a moment to waste!”

Samos didn’t miss the way Jak eyes the eco warily, he didn’t miss the slight tensing of Jak’s shoulders, and his eyes narrowed in thought. Perhaps his time in Haven spelled worse things than Samos expected. He hadn’t missed the way Jak trembled channeling red eco back in the council chambers—and now to eye something as simple as green with wariness, well, Samos wondered how much practice the young prodigy even had as of late.

“Well?” Samos demanded, Jak sighed, and dipped one hand into the pool of liquid green.

Samos turned his attention straight onto the boy and missed the way Daxter quickly scrambled up Jak’s shoulder. The ottsel curled his tail around Jak’s neck and his fingers into the braids of Jak’s hair. Small claws dug into Jak’s scalp as Jak focused on channeling the eco from a liquid state into pure energy. He could feel it burn within his veins something unholy that always brought to mind the times when he and Daxter would go clean out the dark eco flowers with green eco—purifying the land for new, lively and untainted growth. Jak’s hand shook as he held it out over Samos’, who focused the energy Jak output into healing the hurts of the child in front of him. Only Daxter really noted how the sweat built up on Jak’s brow, but more because the child stared as Samos channeled in awe, and Samos focused entirely on the child.

It took almost thirty minutes of concentrated effort, and three full packs of eco—liquid eco existed in a more potent state, but when channeled the way Jak was it burned away far more quickly than anything vaporous would. It didn’t help that Jak constantly fought with the eco through his system while also channeling it in the first place. Finally, though, Samos finished and Jak pulled away. For a moment he swayed on his feet, and then got his bearing back just in time for Samos to turn around.

“Well I better hope that wasn’t all you had to say,” Samos said sharply. “Five days and no one has seen hide nor hair of you, Jak!”

“Dax,” Jak said softly, “can you take him downstairs to Lyra please?”

Daxter nodded, a quick, “Sure thing buddy!” and then gripped the boy and tugged him along. Jak all but collapsed back down into the couch and breathed out heavily.

“Well?” Samos demanded. He noted the exhaustion. “Don’t tell me you’re tired out from that bit of work!” He watched Jak bite back a retort, sigh, and then shook his head.

“I’m fine,” Jak said, but Samos could read the lie easily enough. He could read any lie Jak told him, and a part of him always felt disappointed when the teenager lied. He frowned, but before he could bring attention to it—and berate Jak for lying _again_ —Jak continued tiredly. “I’ve called an emergency meeting of the sage lines.”

Samos blinked, then leaned heavily on his cane. “So you have been paying attention then. It’s about time.” He eyed Jak, worked around what he wanted to say carefully. “What brought this on?”

Jak glanced up at him. “Over half the city is still in ruins, Samos.”

“Preposterous!”

Jark raised his eyebrows. “I was just _there_ and Ashelin _confirmed it_.” Well that Samos couldn’t find an answer for, so he said nothing instead. “The meeting will be in three hours. Can you let Zoe know, and work with her to gather everybody?”

“I suppose,” Samos said cautiously. “What do you plan for this meeting?”

“To get this city back to the way it should be,” Jak said shortly.

“Torn should also be present, since he’ll have the best information in regards to the Krimson Guard and the Underground’s forces,” Samos mused. He often relegated most things to Torn after he recruited the boy. “Very well.” Samos turned and hobbled toward the door, paused, and then added softly, “I am proud of you, Jak. You’re coming into your own well.”

He missed Jak’s look of shock.

* * *

 

She sat across from Sig and laughed at the story the older man casually regaled her with. His tales of the wasteland, surviving, and some of his escapades with metal heads were a refreshing point of interest. Most of anything she’d known had been here in Haven—and nothing as silly as an accidental run-in with a metal head while relieving oneself. Plenty of Sig’s stories were easily nighttime entertainment for patrons at the Naughty Ottsel, but for the moment she had him all to herself.

“Well, firecracker, what about you?” Sig questioned lightly as he knocked back some of the alcoholic beverage that Tess provided him. “What’d you do for fun?”

‘Firecracker’ rolled her glass of water between her hands as she hummed in thought. “Zoomers, mostly. I worked as a mechanic in the Stadium for a good while before I joined up with the Underground.” Her lips curled in a sort-of pleased manner. “The work was fun enough, even if I didn’t enjoy the people whose zoomers I worked on.”

“Just a mechanic or far more technically minded?” Sig cocked his head slightly.

“Oh I can work on just about anything,” Firecracker assured him. “Give me some tools and a machine and I’ll get her purring in no time. If it’s got a processor for eco all the better.” Sig’s brows shot up at that. “Yeah, I know, seems more like something you’d see from someone else.” She shot Sig a mischievous grin. “What can I say? I’ve always been pretty good with eco-related systems.”

“Who do you think taught me how to build a morph gun?” Tess hollered over with a wide grin and Sig burst out with a belly laugh in response.

“Speed or power?” Sig asked. He leaned in to hear her answer.

“Neither,” she answered. “Give it a punch, sure, but it’s more the impact response than anything else. Make it explode with the largest blast radius for maximum destruction? Raise the accuracy rate so that you waste as little ammo as needed? Best results you can find anywhere. Most of the specialty ammo and scopes Tess uses I actually made in house.”

Sig whistled appreciatively, eye wide in surprise.

“Mind if I contract you sometime?” he asked, curious.

“Sure,” Firecracker shrugged. “Not much else to do, really.” She shot Sig a grin, followed by a wink, and watched amused as the older man looked utterly bewildered by the flirtatious action. Calmly she took a sip of her drink, and almost spit it out when her communicator started shrieking with a horrible rendition of a popular song. She glared at it, silently cursed Daxter—he changed the ring tone _again_ and Tess’ laughing over there meant she _helped him_ —and quickly picked up.

“Commander,” Firecracker barely refrained from a salute. Sig twisted, curious, and she waved him off. Without an apology she got to her feet and headed toward the back of the bar.

“Alyín,” Torn’s voice came over with a sigh of relief. “I need you to get to the Palace promptly.”

“Sir?”

“Just…do it. Preferably before _Aksoy_ get’s here.” Alyín frowned, especially at how exhausted Torn sounded. His voice rasped a bit more than normal and, concerned, she shared a glance with Tess.

“I’m on my way, sir,” Alyín agreed. She mouthed, “Should I force him?” to Tess, concerned.

“If he isn’t when you get there,” Tess mouthed back and Alyín nodded. She completely missed Torn’s response, and the subsequent hang up, but she did catch her communicator going off again. Alyín glanced at it, confused, and then paled. She gave Tess a wane smile, ducked into the back, and sucked in a sharp breath.

Quickly the Alyín picked it up again and softly she spoke. “Shadow….”

“Alyín, child, I need you to get Keira from the Stadium,” Samos’ voice came through urgent, and Alyín’s concern grew. First Torn sounded worn out, and now the Shadow too? She wondered just what happened that she missed.

“Sir?”

“A meeting’s been called; all sage lines must be present,” Samos said urgently. “Pick up Keira and make your way here immediately. I’m afraid the time for hiding is done, child.”

Alyín breathed out heavily and closed her eyes. “It’s not like there’s anyone to really hide from, is there?” she asked bitterly.

“I know this might not be your choice…” Samos started, but Alyín interrupted him.

“No. Hiding wasn’t my choice,” she said shortly. “This…this might not also be my choice, but it’s what I want.” She sucked in a breath. “I’ll go and get Keira sir and be there shortly. Is there anything else?”

For a moment Samos didn’t say anything, and then softly he said, “No, my dear. Just hurry. There is much to discuss.” Promptly the communicator cut out. Alyín took a moment longer before she ducked out of the back room, and something must’ve shown on her face because Tess instantly reached out and grasped her arm.

“Are you okay?” the young blond asked.

Alyín looked at her, and then thought of everything that no longer would hold her back, and smirked. “Oh, I will be.” She patted Tess’ hand. “I _will be_ , Tess.”

For a moment Tess stared, and then slowly a smile crossed her face and she nodded. Alyín walked out of the Naughty Ottsel with a wave goodbye to Sig. She hooked her leg around her zoomer parked just outside, and then kipped off. First to pick up Keira, then to attend the meeting. She only hoped Jak and Daxter wouldn’t judge her too harshly.

Alyín wondered if they already knew anyhow. She wondered how they couldn’t know, and then decided that wondering would do her no good.

* * *

 

 _“You must be dressed your best, Keira,”_ Samos urged. _“I know you would rather work on your zoomers, and precursors know I’d be happy to let you…”_

“Daddy,” Keira sighed exasperatedly as she stared up at the undercarriage of the zoomer. “Didn’t we have this talk already?”

 _“This is mandatory, Keira! Get washed up and dressed. I’m sending someone over to pick you up,”_ Samos sounded tired, more tired than Keira could remember him sounding. Even the mess with the Acheron’s he’d always been a lively old man, but now…she didn’t say a word as Samos hung up. Instead she stared at the undercarriage. For a moment she thought of getting out from underneath the zoomer, getting dressed, taking a shower—for a moment she toyed with the idea of going along with what Samos told her to.

Keira entertained the thought of dressing up, of seeing Jak and maybe of impressing him. Despite the changes Keira still found Jak to be attractive—and okay maybe, somewhere, she could see the old Jak in the new Jak, too. They never really got to advance their relationship if it could even be called that before Haven, perhaps now that everything was over they could?

Except. _Except_. Keira remembered Erol’s words—remembered the look in his eyes, how worried he’d been—remembered what Jak said about Erol, remembered how Jak looked himself and—she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No. Things were too different, too strange now—too separated. Perhaps even broken between them.

In the end, despite that Samos sent a call to Keira and all but ordered the young girl to prepare for a meeting at the palace, Keira remained in her work clothes busy underneath the fried zoomer. She told her father more than once after all about her desire to remain removed from the political insanity that seemed to permeate Haven. Samos had plenty of years left before he’d be required to give up his position, which meant plenty of years for Keira to continue her ambitions into the racing scene of Haven and potentially beyond. Besides, her capabilities were better spent fixing zoomers and creating new ways for the zoomer—or anything really—to run efficiently, faster, _better in general_ than to suffer through the political quagmire that Samos wanted her in.

In part Keira’s ambitions were selfish, she knew. She’d spent almost all of her time advancing racing zoomers, building her business and time in the garage with wasted efforts to get home only for _home to be here all along_. She’d spent years believing people to have either abandoned her, or for those trusted to turn out completely different. About the only thing Keira felt she could trust now were the bits and pieces in her garage—the gentle thrum of an engine and the cadence of the racing track.

In the end that was it— _Kiera_ chose racing. Keira _chose_ to work in the garage. Keira didn’t choose Haven, or politics, and she’d be damned if she got caught up in Haven and Haven’s politics.

A small, traitorous part of herself reminded her that _Jak_ never chose any of this either—being a prince, being _King_ —and with a grunt Keira tightened down the bolt in the undercarriage with her lips pressed together. With another grunt, and a sharp tug that went nowhere, Keira let out a sigh of relief. She withdrew the wrench, and slipped out from under the zoomer. Tiredly she settled the wrench onto her workbench and wiped her hands down on a towel.

“About damn time you got out from under there.”

Keira’s head jerked up. She blinked in surprise, and a smile crossed over her face. “Aly!” In less than a second Keira dashed over to the older, taller girl and gripped in a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you since the class three races!”

Alyín returned the hug half-heartedly and smiled self-depreciatingly as she tugged on the edge of Keira’s goggles. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught up in some stuff.” It took only a second for Kiera to note the KG gear adopted by the Underground with faint surprise. It took a second, but her face began to twist and she felt a bit justified for how she pulled away from Alyín.

“Did daddy send you?” Keira asked.

“Keira…” Alyín sighed. “I’m not here just because of the Shadow.”

“So he did.” Keira’s tone turned flat. She took a step back, betrayed. “I don’t see you for _months_ and you show up at the behest of my dad.”

“Engine girl,” Alyín started. She tried to put into words all the reasons she had to come—the Shadow, the meeting, and all of the things beyond that. The things she’d put off until now, the things she brushed aside after the class three races—but Keira gave her this side-glance of a look and Alyín found herself unable to say any of it.

The younger girl wouldn’t listen if she did, anyway.

Instead Alyín sighed, ran here hand through her hair and closed her eyes. Instead she took a second to phrase what needed to be said—not what needed to be said between them but what needed to be said for situation at hand.

“Do you know what an emergency call like this means?” Alyín asked eventually, and she knew full well the answer to her question. Tiredly she watched Keira came to a stop at her calmly spoken question. Both girls knew that Keira looked up to Alyín, took her words more often than not to heart—and Alyín always, _always_ since they were first introduced all those years ago, looked after her. “It means we are _required_ to attend. To not attend is to bring shame to your House, and to be tantamount to declaring yourself homeless.”

“So?” Keira snorted. “The garage is all I need.”

Alyín scrubbed her hand over her face and exhaustedly unhooked the KG mask from around her mouth. “What about the Shadow? There are no more direct descendants of the green sage, and he’s shown no signs to continue it.”

“I’m adopted,” Keira waved a hand negligently, stepped around Alyín, and began to clean up her workspace. It didn’t really need organizing—she knew where everything belonged anyway—but she wanted to appear busy. She didn’t want to think about where Alyín meant to take the conversation—she didn’t want to think about the source of her adoption, of Samos, of the sage lines and of what they meant _here_.

“Adopted? Probably, but unrelated to the green sage? Doubtful,” Alyín snorted disdainfully, and without even a moments real pause continued her train of thought unhindered. “Why do you think Erol was as interested in you as he was?”

 _What._ Keira stiffened and stood stock still. “What do you mean?” she whispered. _How could Erol know?_ She didn’t ask, but it sat between them anyway. _How could Erol know about daddy? About me? About everything?_ When she met the older man he’d been completely unaware of who she was, _hadn’t he?_

Keira knew people didn’t take in strangers out of the good of their hearts. She wasn’t naïve exactly, she knew how the world worked. She’d witnessed it first hand before Haven, and again and again and again within the city walls. While Erol’s strange moment of kindness—how he’d helped her, gathered her up, introduced her to Alyín and gotten her this place here in the garage—strangers didn’t _do that_. Certainly she found it odd, certainly she knew somewhere that perhaps Erol held some sort of agenda, but she’d pushed it away and pushed it down.

After Jak, after Erol, after everything she thought maybe it’d been because Erol had some inkling of her connection to Jak—even if he didn’t know Jak at the time. Or maybe he was suspicious of how _good_ she was at messing with tech considering how they even met. Keira never once thought it might’ve been because of Samos, of the sage lines—or something she didn’t even know about at the time.

Alyín groaned. “Mar I put my mouth in it, sorry,” she muttered out of frustration. “Look, Keira, we can talk about what a dick Erol was after the meeting. It’s _important_.”

Keira shook. “Aly…what do you mean?” She felt like her blood was on fire. She hadn’t heard the name Erol spoken to her in such a way since Jak last brought him up in the garage—and now for Alyín to come in and bandy his name about—to use him as an explanation and then not explain? Keira gripped her wrench tightly. “Tell me.” _Tell me what you know. Tell me the truth. You **always** told me the truth before._

Alyín licked her lips. “Please, let it go?” she asked, almost pleadingly. Keira could mentally see the look to her eyes, a sort of wild thing. She’d seen that same look in Erol’s eyes before, it wasn’t all that hard to imagine them on Alyín, not with how she sounded. “I swear I’ll explain later.”

Keira hesitated; a part of her said to let it go. Alyín would explain, she _knew it_. The rest of her Keira found didn’t care. She whirled around.

“Explain now!” Keira yelled. “All I get is later and later and later! All I get is being brushed off—Jak spends time in prison and he comes back changed, plus he’s apparently some sort of _prince_. Erol tells me one thing and then he goes does something completely different, as if I don’t notice it! Haven’s supposed to be some strange place—it _couldn’t be home_ because home was always _better than this_ —but it really is _home_ and suddenly _I can never leave?!_ I’m suddenly some sort of heiress to a family name and a legacy I never even knew of?! _No one is telling me anything, Aly!_ ”

“It’s because you _never ask!_ ” Alyín snapped back.

“I asked all the time!” Keira responded.

“Then it’s _none of your business!_ ” Alyín shot back.

“Except _it’s about_ me or _the people close to_ me Aly!” Kiera clenched her fists. “ _I’m eighteen!_ I don’t need protecting anymore!”

Alyín paced, eyes a veritable storm that practically glowed as she shifted— _prowled_ —around the garage. The more she moved, the sharper her movements got. The more she talked, the more explosive her words became. “You think this is about protecting you? About keeping you in the dark? For fucks sake Keira _grow up._ You are right. You’re eighteen! It’s been _four years_ and you certainly aren’t a little kid anymore!”

Alyín grabbed hold of her hair and twisted. Her eyes practically began to glow like molten gold. “I came here to explain things to you, to talk to you, _to see you_ and not because the Shadow asked me to! I care about you, Keira, I care about your future and your choices. I want you to have a say in things, I want you to _understand_ things. For Mar’s fucking sake though sometimes things aren’t our _choice!_ ”

Keira remained silently as Alyín moved.

“Do you think I want to go to this meeting either? You think I _want_ to go up to Jak and say _hey, I’m the younger sister to the asshole who stuck you full of dark eco_? And _who knows what else he probably did too?!_ ”

Keira gripped her wrench tight and clenched her teeth at the comment that Erol had anything to do with what happened to Jak—at the reminder that the man she thought was sweet, wasn’t.

“I have one brother _known for committing suicide because he didn’t win a damn race_ ,” Alyín snarled. “Another _dead_ because he just so happened to join up with the Krimson Guard at the _complete wrong time and refused a posting with family_. A cousin who honestly doesn’t give a crap about anything and would rather fuck people over _for shits and giggles_.”

“And I’m here wondering why the people I trusted have turned into _monsters_ behind my back, and why I’m _still_ stuck in a cesspit of technology and death _when all I want is to go back home to where things were simpler!_ ” Keira yelled back.

“ _We don’t get what we want, Keira!_ ” Alyín screamed, and they both stared at each other panting and furious. Alyín took several deep breaths and said softer, “We don’t get what we want. I know this. Samos knows this. Daxter knows this. _Jak_ knows this.”

Keira looked away. She knew this, too. Alyín sighed.

“I can’t make you go,” she said, turned, and headed toward the door. “Just know that if you don’t come with me, you are making your father—adopted or not—look bad in front of the rest of the sage lines, and Keira? They’re not as understanding as me.”

Keira stood in her garage for a long moment. She stared at nothing, thought of nothing. She just stood there—her mind raced through scenarios, memories, instances of moments in time. Keira grit her teeth and grimaced; her eyes stung and she raised one hand the scrub at them, infuriated with herself. She took another long minute before she sucked in her breath and raced out the door.

“Alyín!”

Alyín paused on her zoomer, the engine thrummed beneath her barely warm. She glanced over at Keira who paused, gaze focused on the ground.

“You’re right,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

Alyín sighed and looked away. “I’m…sorry, too.” Unspoken went all of the things Alyín was sorry for. The things that neither of them could control, the things that they could control but didn’t. Alyín leaving, of never telling Keira what she knew—of keeping silent, of lying by omission, of looking the other way. Neither of them spoke or looked at the other for a long moment, and then Alyín gestured to the bike with a sigh and a side-glance. “Get on.”

Kiera climbed behind her and wrapped her hands around the older girl’s waist. Alyín kicked the zoomer into gear and pulled out from the Stadium. She flicked her finger’s over the controls as she moved the vehicle into the open space to switch hover zones.

Keira buried her face into Alyín’s back, and Alyín almost didn’t hear her speak over the hum of the engine.

“Did he really just help me because I looked like I was related to the green sage?”

Alyín paused, then snorted.

“No one knows what went on in his mind,” she said bitterly. “Not even me.”

“And you?”

Alyín blinked. “And me what?”

“Help me because I looked like I was related to the green sage,” Keira practically mumbled. Alyín looked down at the hands around her waist, sighed, and then switched hover zones.

“Stop being ridiculous, engine girl,” Alyín uttered. Keira tightened her grip. “I helped you because you had talent, you had _guts_.” Alyín calmly squeezed Keira’s hand, and shifted the accelerator. “Now let’s get going. We don’t want to keep his ridiculousness waiting, do we?”

Keira giggled, squeezed tighter, and Alyín shot them off in the direction of the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You read this chapter correct. There was not a mistake made. Questions? Hold your horses we're getting into some of that plot.
> 
> \---
> 
> I'm tossing this out a day early because, well...my work week looks a bit weird. I have today, tomorrow off. Then Tuesday off. Then I had to take Thursday as UTO because of doctors appointments so I have Thursday off too. So my days off are looking like this:
> 
> Today, Sunday 9/25, Tuesday 9/27, TECHNICALLY Thursday 9/29, Sunday 10/2, Tuesday 10/4, Tuesday 10/11, Thursday 10/13
> 
> This means I'm planning updates, if I can keep up my pace, on the following days:
> 
> Today, Sunday 10/2, Tuesday 10/11 because by that point I can reread over what I've gotten, double check my notes, make any last minute corrections, and drop the chapters on you all. I'm already partially through the next chapter (technically, okay, it was done last week shortly after I posted Chapter 6, but I got pissed with where it ended so I'm...reworking bits of it, and adding to it, and making it...better-I did that with this chapter too! So there!)
> 
> Other good news: I've finally gone and written down a full page of this is the shit happening in Haven Arc don't you dare forget it now, TK! Because, uh, stuff happened.
> 
> UnluckyAlis you are a life savor and thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House of Mar has big shoes to fill.

The city moved like a living organism before Jak’s eyes. He watched, hands clasped behind his back and face carefully blank, from the windows high above the city. People—Krimson Guard and Underground alike—came and went from the building in droves. They flowed with the populace who watched outside with undisguised curiosity, broke away, and came together again before transport vehicles. Jak watched the hellcats descend and loaded up; the transport vehicles filled. Normally the KG outposts, barracks, or the prison itself would be where they received their marching orders. Each of those locations were lost or within a district that still wasn’t recovered, and so the relief efforts—and the orders they received for those efforts—began here at the palace.

The movement itself did not lean toward subtlety, but Jak didn’t quite care. This place may be hell, and definitely Jak considered it to be _his_ hell, but he’d found himself placed in charge of it and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take care of it. The people were his responsibility now, for better or worse, and Jak refused to leave them be. He refused to keep over half of his city in ruins, to leave more than half of its populace to face threats that they were more than capable of being defended from. The very sense of purpose burned deep within him—despite everything Jak silently swore to protect the people of this city, the home of his ancestors, and the home of his pain. He silently swore that if he had to he’d rebuild Haven from the ground up.

On his shoulder Daxter quietly mimicked Jak. He stood tall, feet planted firmly, and hands clasped behind his back at parade rest. The ottsel’s face also schooled carefully blank as they both observed the ground below. Torn and Ashelin worked quick, Jak and Daxter had to give them that. They’d gotten the Krimson Guard mobilized pretty fast, and what Underground agents were on hand shifted into the groups they were directed without a fight. Jak found himself surprised to not see any of the expected infighting between the two groups given their history, but then he and Daxter both knew how some causes were important enough to leave grudges behind.

“Torn always was good at commanding,” Samos said tiredly from a few paces over. Jak glanced to him. “It’s why I left him in charge as often as I did.”

Jak glanced back to the world below. “He’d make a good leader,” the teen noted. “Why isn’t he in charge of the Krimson Guard?”

Samos tapped his cane and hummed in thought. “You have been informed about their formation?” the elderly sage questioned. “The original purpose for the Guard?”

“You mean aside from the spelling illiterate?” Daxter snarked. The seriousness of the ottsel teen’s stance stopped Samos from actually rasping the boy with his cane as he raised his eyebrows ever higher.

“The original spelling was ‘Crimson,’,” Jak clarified. “Before they became known as the ‘Crimson Guard’ they were the ‘Red Eco Knights’ under command of the red sage’s lineage.” Jak turned toward Samos. “When Baron Praxis took command the name changed to ‘Krimson’ so as to differentiate their new, more militarized objective. Correct?”

Samos hummed in agreement.

“Traditionally the Guard has been commanded by the red sage line,” Samos said calmly. “Just as the agricultural and hospitals were cared for by the green sage.”

“The blue sage maintained the shield wall and eco stores,” Daxter continued in thought. “Yellow did…what? Ballistics? Entertainment?”

Samos snorted. “The yellow sage lines focused where they were needed. They kept a pointed, social view and worked more on infrastructure. They did set up the supply chains that flow throughout the city, and then maintained the ballistics and outfitting of the Guard in every sector, but primarily the yellow sage line kept the day-to-day moving along like a well-oiled machine.”

“And above everything stood the line of Mar,” Jak continued. He looked back over the city. “They kept an ever vigilant watch, listened to the pleas of the people, and stood as the beacon of hope…a metaphysical barrier between the people, and the suffering caused by the metal heads.” He sounded contemplative about the words he spoke. A part of Jak always found his family history something of a curiosity, even before Haven Jak wondered where he came from. Now he knew.

“You have been paying attention,” Samos sounded completely pleased with Jak’s assessment. “You are correct. House Mar stood before the people as the beacon of hope, the ones who beat back the darkness and shielded the city from the suffering of the world at large.”

Jak let a small smile slip through at Samos’ praise. Daxter chuckled from his shoulder. “Zoe’s a good teacher,” the ottsel agreed calmly.

Neither noticed Samos start in surprise at Zoe’s name.

“She did always go on about Mar,” Jak agreed. “How important House Mar always was to Haven. The things that House Mar did, how they helped people…how they kept peace and hope and light for Haven.”

If anything Samos didn’t find that too surprising. The blue sage line stood closest to Mar’s line. House Asul and House Mar built the shield wall, worked closest with the eco stores of Haven, and there’d always been some sort of comradery or respect between the two families. Why if Zoe or Vin ever had a child Damas’ age Samos doubted the coup would even have worked in the first place. House Asul would have _revolted_ against the other Houses, Samos was certain. As it was they already looked down on the rest of the sage lines for following through with the coup.

Samos squashed down the small bit of guilt that burned through him for the actions of his foolish youth. Instead he focused onto Jak who kept silent, almost contemplative. The boy certainly had grown over the years in Haven. Samos couldn’t be sure if he could say Jak finally started growing into the man he’d always meant to be, or if it were more that the man he was finally began to mature a little. At any rate Samos found himself rather proud of who Jak slowly became, and who he would eventually become. The years might not have been kind, Samos wasn’t blind he could see the old hurts that Jak tried to hide, but Jak still came out of everything stronger for it.

“It’s almost time,” Samos spoke up, and Jak sighed. He turned from the window and surveyed the room. Samos surveyed Jak.

They were in the highest point of the palace. The room itself had rarely been used over the years for its intended purpose. Samos, nor Jak, knew what Praxis used the space for, but both were fully aware of what the room was meant to be. Surrounded by a single full wall of glass to stare down at the world below, computer systems along another wall, chairs, and a central table that practically lit up from the number of lights and screens that littered it. The room itself existed as something more like a command center—stark and utilitarian in its design, but it also stood sleek and intuitive. Jak made his way over to the seat at the head of the table. He flicked his fingers across the screen there and began to draw up maps of Haven city, the buildings, and the sewer system as well as schematics for the shield wall.

Samos calmly sat himself down into the seat typically reserved for the green sage line and followed Jak’s example. He also pulled out the reports from the council, the KG, and the Underground on the state of the city beyond the reclaimed districts. What he read made him frown; over sixty percent of the city actually remained in ruins. Eighty percent of the population wasn’t even counted for, and seventy-five percent of Haven’s forces were missing, presumed dead.

Daxter and Jak spoke without speaking while Samos read through what he could. They’d gesture and tilt their heads, twist their mouths as they worked through the schematics. Together they discussed what could be done—how best to tackle the situation at hand. Where best to deploy the forces they did have available, and what best to do to repel the metal heads that still lurked within the city walls.

It was this silence that Zoe stepped into. Jak looked up when she entered the room, offered her a small sort of grimace, and Zoe gave a nod back. She looked worse for wear, and Jak didn’t doubt that she hadn’t had any time to get cleaned up. If anything he figured she had enough time to bring Vin the rest of the way home and little else. Jak watched Zoe take her seat, watched how with a few quick gestures she turned on the holographic projector. The city maps and the reports both began to scroll, the computer working out most of the details.

The next to enter the room was Koray Aksoy of the yellow sage line. Jak glanced at him, gave a short nod, and then went back to what he was looking over. Daxter leaned toward Zoe and said something in low tones that nobody but Jak could understand. Out of the corner of his eye Jak watched as Koray took the seat for the head of House Karga and he fought down a a frown.

Logically Jak knew that Erol’s position in the government, in the Dark Warrior Program, and within the KG actually signified something far more important. He knew, somewhere, that Erol was the heir to House Karga, and as such the direct descendent of the yellow sage. Knowing, and accepting, were two different things. The fact that Koray looked almost exactly like Erol—not necessarily in coloring; Koray’s skin was a bit darker and his eyes a shade more orange, plus his hair was completely the wrong texture, but he stood like Erol and he talked like Erol—didn’t help matters.

Ashelin came into the room with Torn not long after, and Jak presumed that meant the situation on the ground had so far been handled. Koray looked up and pursed his lips into a frown when he saw Torn beside Ashelin.

“Jak,” Ashelin nodded and slipped into her seat. Torn shifted, and then took up position behind Jak. Jak glanced to him, noted how Torn stood stiff with his hands clasped behind his back, and then glanced to Koray.

“Do you feel unsafe here?” Koray questioned. He leaned forward and placed his elbows onto the table, something that made Zoe look at him sharply, a silent sort of reprimand.

“No,” Jak replied pointedly.

“Then why is your bodyguard present?” Koray sneered. “Torn is not fit to be in this meeting. He isn’t of a sage line.”

Ashelin snorted and shifted in her seat.

“ _Commander_ ,” she stressed the word, “Torn is here at my, and House Hagai’s request. His knowledge will be beneficial for the purpose of this meeting.”

Koray sneered at Ashelin, and short a glance to Samos.

“And what, might I ask, is this meeting about?” Koray quarried. Samos, from his spot, harrumphed.

“We’re not all here, boy,” the elderly sage uttered sharply.

“Samos is quite right, child,” Zoe said primly. “Hold your tongue, and do have care with what you say.” She looked at Koray like he was an errant little kidchild before she calmly focused back on the screens and the holographic display before her. Ashelin from her spot began to input numbers and Jak shifted toward Torn.

“How is the ground?” Jak questioned in low tones as he kept half an eye on Koray. He didn’t want his experiences with Erol to cloud his judgement, but something about the older man rubbed him completely raw.

Torn visibly seemed to sag for a second as he muttered back, exhaustedly, “Terrible.” Jak arched an eyebrow. “More of our men are missing than anyone initially realized, those we could gather were less than thrilled to have their daily lives upset once more.” Jak raised the other eyebrow. “Yes, mostly the KG forces.”

“Any issues with your command?” Jak questioned.

“None so far,” Torn replied back. “Although Ashelin vouching for me appears to have helped a great deal.” Torn paused, then added softer, “She might not look it but she really is grateful you’ve discovered this whole mess. It’s been dragging on her.”

Jak scrubbed his face with one hand and said under his breath, “Thank Zoe. If anyone else had their way I would’ve remained in the dark.”

Torn snorted. “Ashe wouldn’t have gone for that. She’d pushed back eventually.”

“She’d have just manipulated me into fixing the issue without telling me,” Jak grunted and by the twitch of Torn’s lips he hit the nail on the head. For a moment nobody said anything, and then Jak sighed. “Who else are we waiting on?” he asked softly. He couldn’t think of anyone off of the top of his head, but then he still felt more buzzed up on dark eco than anything.

Jak lamented the fact that he put this meeting ahead of actually getting out to waste some of the eco stores he’d built up gathering Vin’s body for a moment. He felt half ready to go off on a hair trigger as it was.

“Keira,” Samos spoke up calmly. “As well as Alyín.”

_Alyín_ ; Jak didn’t recognize that name, but given the way Koray actually jerked I surprise the other man quite obviously did.

“Alyín is _dead_ ,” Koray practically growled out.

“Alyín is perfectly alive,” Torn countered calmly. “If I understand the situation she is ensuring Lady Hagai will make it here.” He glanced to Samos, and Jak glanced between them. Something else was going on here, apparentlyapparenty, and he disliked the lack of understanding _what_ that was.

“She has been missing presumed dead for _years now_ ,” Koray sneered. “Or have you forgotten, _Commander Torn?_ ”

Torn didn’t reply, but then again he didn’t need to. Jak’s mouth fell open slightly as he breathed out an ‘oh’ when Alyín stepped into the room with Keira, a dark look on her face. Of course the connection in retrospect _was_ rather obvious. Jak knew she looked a lot like Erol, it unnerved him how much so in fact although the different eyes often threw him off. He felt like he looked into a weird, and skewered mirror image of Erol whenever he saw her.

“Really, Koray?” Alyín sneered back, lips curled up. “And here I thought you mistook me for _Rahmi_ in the elevator not even a week ago.”

Koray twisted, his face pale.

“I believe you are in my seat?” Alyín continued blithely as she showed Keira to a seat next to Samos. Keira, Jak noted, kept oddly silent.

“You’re dead,” Koray said numbly.

“Not as dead as Erol wanted people to believe,” Alyín countered. “Now, my seat?”

The shuffle didn’t take long, and when everything was done Alyín calmly started the introductions. Jak knew in the end the whole affair was settled more for Keira’s sake than his own—he knew which families each person came from already thanks to a combination of Ashelin, Vin, Zoe, and Samos.

“Alyín of House Karga,” Alyín stated calmly. “Alyín of House Karga, present,” Alyín stated calmly. She looked Jak directly in the eye as she dipped her head. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s actions against you, King Jak. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s past actions against you, King Jak. His, at the time, ignorance to who you are is not an excuse.”

Daxter twisted.

_Erol was her brother?!_

_Yes, Dax. Obviously._

Jak breathed out through his nose and kept his voice even as he replied—although he couldn’t stop the way his ears twisted down or how his hands shook—his voice rather tight, “Any grievances against House Karga are forgiven.”

“Koray Aksoy,” Koray said smoothly, face rather pinched. “Sire,” he added at a sharp look from over half the table. Jak nodded.

“Ashelin of House Praxis,” Ashelin nodded. “I hope we get the matter resolved quickly, King Jak.”

“As do I,” Jak uttered tiredly.

“Zoe of House Asul,” Zoe nodded, and gave a smile toward Keira. “Vin would’ve loved to be in this room again, Jak…thank you for bringing him home.”

“Samos of House Hagai, with my daughter Keira,” Samos nodded. “As our guest, as well as the guest of House Praxis, we’ve included Commander Torn of the Underground and the Krimson Guard.”

Torn gave a short nod to everyone but kept a stiff stance behind Jak now that proceedings finally started.

“Thank you,” Jak said. “Listen, I’m going to toss aside pretenses here. The issue is this: Haven is in ruins and we damn well need to get it fixed.”

Zoe twittered faintly and pulled up the statistics. Koray pulled a face as Jak tossed aside the stiff formalities.

“Correct,” she said quickly. “Over half of the city still remains under threat from the metal heads. The shield wall stands to cover the Waterfront and Main Town. Everywhere else still suffers from metal head attacks or are at risk of metal head attacks despite that we’ve repelled them.” A few quick taps of her fingers highlighted the danger areas of Haven. Koray and Keira both paled at the large swath of red coloring on the map. Everyone else already had a bit of a cursory understanding of the mess they were in.

“It gets worse,” Torn said exhaustedly. He leaned around Jak and quickly pulled up the information on Haven’s forces from Jak’s terminal. From the way his lips quirked at Koray’s almost scandalized face over on the yellow sage’s side of the room, Torn did this intentionally. “Over seventy percent of the Krimson Guard remain within the danger zone, and we haven’t been capable of getting proper supplies to them for days. We’ve been holding by the thread of our teeth.” Torn paused, then added gruffly. “In some cases quite literally.”

A small part of Jak wondered what those cases were, the rest of him decided it’d be better not to know. He did exchange a glance with Daxter that surmised of _how_ and _what?_

“Underground agents have been ferrying supplies from the sewer systems,” Samos agreed, “but the risk hasas made the drops hard to complete. Any air support or air drops of supplies has left the Underground numbers practically decimated.”

“Beyond that,” Zoe continued, “most of the city population is also unaccounted for. What little surveying we could do shows that more buildings are collapsed now than last week.. Corpses litter roads and are spreading disease, increasing the risk to survivors and our forces.. The amount of dark eco pooled in the very streets has become a hazard, not to mention the risk to the water supply—which affects _all_ of Haven and not just the areas currently under attack.. Even if we can mount a successful rescue operation our hospitals will quickly become overwhelmed by the amount of sick and infirm.”

“And without that shield wall back up and running we’re basically sitting ducks for a larger attack,” Ashelin frowned in thought. “Although reports we have been able to get show that the metal heads aren’t nearly as well coordinated as they’ve been in the past.”

“Can we use that lack of coordination to our advantage?” Alyín questioned, thoughtfully.

“At first we did,” Torn agreed, a small smile flashed briefly in approval of Alyín’s tactical analysis.countered. He nodded to Zoe who pulled up the past reports on how various sections of the city had been reclaimed. “We were able to push back metal head forces here, here, and here.” He pointed to areas on the map and the lit up green. “However now their erratic movements are working against us. We’ve lost all communication with the Water Slums, and over half of the Slums themselves.” Those areas lit up a dark red, almost the color of blood. Jak grimaced. “We’ve probably honestly completely lost the Water Slumswater slums like we did Dead Town at this point, too.”

“Great,” Alyín cursed.

Jak noted how everyone grimaced at the mention of Dead Town; he hadn’t quite realize that the loss still affected such a large group of ‘nobility’ years afterward. Given the way even Koray scowled in distaste—and Daxter’s silent message in the twist of his hands—the majority of Haven’s noble lines probably still felt something over the loss.

“We can house the majority of the refugees in the Stadium,” Keira mused allowed, and then flushed when all eyes turned on her. “We have plenty of room!” she insisted. “There’s the race track itself, the under track, and then the underground garages. Damage to the Stadium was by far minimal considering the metal heads had to go through most of the city to get there. Plus the zoomer garages themselves have more than enough space, and then the courtyard….”

“Good idea, Keira,” Samos agreed.

“Even better we can handle the risk of the spread of diseases far more easily in the garages themselves too,” Alyín agreed. “The pits we use to work on zoomers can become an effective mass grave site in the interim so that we can cleanse the city more easily enough.”

“Can we spare the green eco?” Koray questioned.

“Fire cleanses just as well as green eco,” Jak mused. “It’ll stop the spread of disease in the short term.”

“Yeah!” Daxter nodded. “We only then have to perform a green eco cleanse of the pits once we’ve finished with the fires.”

“The people will object,” Koray pointed out.

Alyín disagreed. “Not if we phrase it for their safety.” She breathed out heavily. “Honestly cremation at this point is the better option. Not only will it ensure the safety of the rest of the populace but we also don’t have enough space for burials in the size we should expect given how much of Haven is still under siege.”

They bandied back and forth for a while longer, discussed various options and regards toward safety. Jak pointed out the Waterfront would be a good place for refugee’s as well, specifically those who show no sign of illness. Ideas were brought up and tossed aside rather quickly—and at one point Koray even demanded to know how they would pay for this entire operation but found himself shut down quite quickly.

Everything worked out far more smoothly than Jak expected, all things considered, and for the first time in a while Jak began to feel something like hope. Hope for the future—hope for _a future_. He prayed he didn’t come to regret the feeling later. 

* * *

 

Torn sighed exasperatedly as he worked through the information that Zoe and the rest of the emergency council wanted to review. Nothing, ultimately, had been enacted after the whole meeting. They made plans for the eventuality—plans Torn figured Jak would go through with even if the others disagreed—and now he sloughed through notes, blueprints, and anything else Zoe and Samos deemed important for the logistics of the whole thing.

At the very least Torn’s position in keeping an eye on Jak meant he had plenty of time to review the documents. Moments like right now, outside of Haven’s walls in the forest landscape, nestled into a little out-of-the-way corner while Jak went all merry-hell on the place and the potential infestation within it. Distantly Torn could hear another roar, another crash, and scrubbed at his forehead to fight away the incoming migraine.

Daxter hadn’t felt it prudent to mention the amount of dark eco Jak just so happened to absorb on his jaunt into the Industrial District for Zoe until well after the meeting ended. Torn had no idea how the kid held things together as well as he did considering the hair trigger Jak contained when too much eco built up into his system.

“You should be thankful he didn’t destroy the palace, Torn,” the no-longer-ex-Commander grumbled. He’d born witness enough to the type of destruction Jak could get up to. He’d also born witness to the eventual fallout. Another howl, another crash, and Torn held back a wince. Daxter, hopefully, would steer Jak away from anything important along the outside wall.

Torn flicked his finger along the data tablet and tried to focus on the work before him. He had the blueprints up for the Stadium, including the amount of people they could seat, the dimensions of when the thing was built—everything and anything that Zoe could dig up on the place Torn had at his fingertips. He hadn’t known how vastly large the Stadium actually was until he’d been handed the tablet. Sure he knew the races got a good turnout—a couple hundred, sometimes just shy of half-a-thousand, attendee’s at a time. However, they needed to be certain what type of occupancy the building could withstand.

Out of the majority of the places available, the Stadium would be the forerunner for the refugee’s from the lost parts of the city. Torn noted down the probable equipment they’d have to find a temporary new home for, and he made a slight suggestion at using the forest. The metal head population would be highly decimated after today, and with proper barricades at choke points they could keep this section fairly secure.

Near silent footsteps caught Torn’s attention and with trained reflexes Torn pulled up a smaller version of Jak’s morph gun. He aimed it toward the entrance to his little section next to the wall and waited until the intruder came into his sights. When he saw orange fur Torn set the gun back down.

“Did he finally tire out?” the commander rasped, gaze once more focused on the work before him.

“Yeah,” Daxter sighed. “He’s collapsed a couple ‘a feet away, recouperatin’.” Torn nodded. “Y’know you didn’t need to follow us, right?”

“Currently my job description is to keep Jak’s ass out of trouble,” Torn snorted. He jotted down a quick note about the occupancy size and pulled up the dimensions and blueprints for the Waterfront to compare.

“Well yer doin’ a shitty job,” Daxter scowled.

“It’d be easier if he stayed put,” Torn replied.

“We ain’t gonna just sit around doin’ nothin’!” Daxter countered.

Torn arched an eyebrow and peered at the two-foot-tall rat with a look that pretty much had Daxter turning away, feet scuffed against the ground sheepishly.

“Jak’s the best at what he does,” Daxter mumbled. “That’s all I meant.”

Torn sighed, set the tablet down, and leaned forward.

“I know,” Torn said. “But even he will burn out eventually.” When Daxter didn’t reply Torn let himself have a self-satisfied smirk. “Besides, I’d never keep Jak away from the fighting if he didn’t wish me to.”

Daxter glanced over at him with a narrow eyed stare, a silent question that Torn found easier and easier to read the longer he spent in Jak and the rodent’s presence.

“He needs a break,” Torn pointed out. “Otherwise if I really wanted to I could’ve just walked into the Ottsel and dragged him back by his ear. You guys weren’t really subtle.” Daxter looked down towards his feet, chagrined. “I kept Ashelin off of his back for you two, distracted _the Shadow_ for you both.” Torn massaged his forehead tiredly. “Mar-be-damned but I want this to go right.”

“You guys went an’ made him king,” Daxter grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ right ‘bout that.”

Torn sighed out a, “No,” of agreement. He’d had his own doubts, concerns, but more out of a sense of care for Jak that he’d come to hold in the same way that he cared for each and every one of his men. “But it was the only choice we had at the time.” The only choice they _still_ had.

“An’ the kid?”

“Also wasn’t my idea,” Torn pointed out. “If I could’ve had a say in that I would’ve gotten him to a good home and kept him well away from any of this…shit.” He waved his hand to imply the metaphorical shit he spoke about.

“So you’ve got a heart then,” Daxter concluded.

“I always have,” Torn replied. “I just prefer to keep it under lock and key.”

“With plenty of booze,” Daxter snarked back.

“Best way to keep things hidden,” Torn agreed, and he had the surreal thought on how this was his life now—joking and agreeing with the pet rat of the boy-king that he’d recruited on a drunken whim. Torn picked up the tablet and decided it’d be best to get back to work. “Let me know when Jak’s ready to return to the city.”

Daxter eyed him, then asked, “We gonna go back through the sewers?”

“Until we’ve got a safer passageway, yes,” Torn countered. Daxter grimaced, and then flounced back to Jak loudly lamenting that Torn planned to pull them through the sewers, _again_. Torn’s ears perked up when he caught the faint, exhausted laughter from Jak. His lips twitched into a small smile. 

* * *

 

Torn slipped into Ashelin’s quarter’s only after he’d been assured that Jak planned to simply sleep and not sneak out in the middle of the night. The teen often did so back in the Underground headquarters that Torn felt justified in double checking. The frustrated, completely-not-amused look the teen gave him might have also been a few bonus points. Torn liked to screw around a bit with the kids—he had to get his kicks _somewhere_ in this mess of a city; at least he didn’t screw with people in the way other ex-KG might’ve.

Of course that brought to mind Erol, and promptly any good humor Torn felt died a rather abrupt death. He fought down the melancholy that wanted to grab hold of him as he stepped further into Ashelin’s rooms. His finger’s lingered along the scar on his own neck, lips tugged a bit down, but resolutely Torn didn’t think of Erol. He didn’t think of how it hurt to breath, of the biting feel of his own knife against his neck—the feel of warm blood as it slipped down to his collarbones, the hollow scream that echoed in his own head—

“Torn.”

Torn jerked. His eyes snapped open wide, as he saw Ashelin right in his face, eyes practically shining with concern.

“Ashe?” Torn croaked, then winced when it registered just how sore his throat felt. He didn’t even bother to protest as Ashelin grabbed his hands with one hand, and the respirator with another. She knelt down in front of him and carefully tugged the device over his face and ensured that it would do its job.

“We’re good now?” Ashelin asked carefully. She let go of Torn’s hands only when he nodded, and with a sharp movement Torn grasped at the mask and pressed it a bit more firmly against his face. Ashelin seemed to slump in on erself as she rocked back onto her heels, and then fell roughly onto her ass. “Thank Mar.”

“How bad?” Torn wheezed.

Ashelin snorted and gave Torn a look that he knew all too well. He sighed exhaustedly as Ashelin gestured to the room, pointed out the overturned lamp—funny Torn didn’t feel like he’d hit the lamp—and then Torn saw the disheveled couch. Everything clicked.

“Where?” he questioned, leaned in, and tried to calculate just where Ashelin hit the lamp.

“It’s not even a bruise,” Ashelin snapped out. “I’m more worried about that knife of yours.”

Torn made a semi-strangled noise. He hadn’t even unsheathed the damn thing and she worried about his _knife?_ Another look and Torn handed over the weapon grumpily.

“It’s not like I haven’t had a flashback before,” Torn grumbled. “I’m not going to hurt myself Ashe, for Mar’s fucking sake.” It took him a second to parse why he suddenly felt a bit weird, but when he realized it Torn pulled a bit of a face.

“Just breathe, you asshole,” Ashelin sighed.

“I’m breathing,” Torn muttered back, and from the way the mask muffled his voice it turned out fairly incomprehensible. Ashelin shifted until their knees touched, and she leaned back to stare up at the ceiling with an almost contemplative look across her face. Torn recognized the look to mean that the red headed noble girl in front of him was considering something.

“What now?” Torn asked tiredly, shoulders slumped. He might’ve nudged his knees a bit closer against hers until it was their legs pressed against one another.

Ashelin glanced at him, and then back to the ceiling. She hummed in thought, and then gave Torn a bit of a small grin.

“You know for having such a fucked up set of voice chords, you can scream pretty damn loud,” she said eventually.

Torn laughed, then winced, then coughed.

“Oh, _ow_ ,” he breathed as the coughing turned into wheezing. “Fuck. _Mar_. **_Ow_**.”

“Mar?” Ashelin quirked her eyebrow in the way she did when she found something he said absolutely hilarious. “Really? Hm, maybe I should use that.”

Torn blinked, then cursed. Ashelin shot him a teasing smile, got to her feet, and sauntered over to her bedroom.

“Ashe! Ashe don’t you fucking dare!” Torn yelled, and he unsteadily got to his feet. He continued to shout after the younger girl as he followed after her, mask still pressed firmly to his face. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Why don’t you make me, _Commander?_ ” Ashelin laughed.

Torn huffed, but he let a small, grimace sort of smile cross his face as he passed by the couch. She’d fallen asleep on it, covered in a blanket, surrounded by documents and updates from the troops on the ground. How terribly like her when she was focused on something; if nothing Ashelin’s dedication certainly Torn found an endearing quality.

“Well, _Commander?_ ”

Torn scowled. Unless, of course, she used it like now.

“I’m coming, you Mar-be-damned woman!”

“He went and had me damned? For shame, when shall I expect the execution then?”

“Oh fuck you!”

Ashelin just laughed, and Torn found himself somewhat grinning behind his grimace. _Laughing_ he decided, _really hurt right now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Torn having that little PTSD episode was completely out of the blue. The plan (and I use this term loosely) was originally for Torn to walk in on Ashelin passed out on the couch, but then as I was writing he went and thought about Erol and...here we are. Oh well, I wanted to bring up some of this sooner or later anyway.
> 
> This is actually why with most of my stories my outlines/notes are literally either small anecdotes, a sentence, or a paraphrased idea. When I get down to writing my story doesn't always follow the path I've written. Sometimes I'll come to the realization that there's another series of scenes that goes better before a section of tension. In terms of writing I'm the gardener, tending to his garden. The story itself takes upon a life of it's own; determines the outcome itself. All I have is a vague set of where things go, what is in the garden itself. How it blooms and grows from there...well, only the garden knows. I merely keep it alive and mostly clean.
> 
> Aaaaand now that we're past that, an updated update schedule! Yay!
> 
> Updates for the next few weeks are as follows:
> 
> **Tuesday 10/11, Sunday 10/16**  
>  Please note that these are tentative dates because whether I'll stick to it or not is questionable. Especially considering the behemoth this chapter is. I haven't even gotten started on Chapter 9 because I was displeased with the originally ending point (the end of meeting) since it felt too...singular. It felt like it didn't resolve properly-the chapter, not the scene.
> 
> However I do have an idea of where I'm going. The next couple of chapters...I make no promises on their contents, but I have some ideas. Some plans that I want to do. We're getting a little dip into that plot I have, just a toe, maybe a foot, but soon we'll be diving headfirst.
> 
> I think.
> 
> _And for those who wonder..._
> 
> I have a playlist for Patriciate that I listen to when I'm working on the chapters. Recently Spotify (where my playlist resides...since I don't really have much music on my computer...) popped up with a 'Calm Version of Patriciate' that they generated for me. On a whim I gave it a listen.
> 
> The first song on that playlist, the first 'calmer' song they gave me, was Korn's _Daddy._
> 
> _Daddy._
> 
> I never even heard this song before (I lived under a rock, still kind of do) but...while in some cases it was highly appropriate given I was writing (brainstorming how to write) Erol's messed up dealings with people... _Daddy_ is supposedly a calmer version song of my playlist songs.
> 
> It makes me wonder how intense my playlist actually is.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter where one looks, someone has an agenda. Even those whom are held closest.

Jak bit into his sandwich absentmindedly as he worked through the written reports from the sage lines, curled up into what Tess called ‘Jak’s booth’ in a small corner of the Naughty Ottsel. Daxter sprawled over the countertop and munched on a few snacks Tess left him. Occasionally when Jak glanced over to his friend he found the ottsel calmly drawing dicks on a spare piece of paper. Often he found himself forced to repress a snort; a few of Daxter’s drawings were quite humorous, near political cartoons of the situation and the people involved.

A _lot_ of his drawings featured Koray in increasingly terrible situations. Jak wasn’t sure the man deserved it, but, well, whatever helped Daxter relaxed helped him relax. Besides the reports were rather dry—only Torn’s report held anything remotely amusing in it, and Jak felt certain the man put the dry witticisms and commentary in there on purpose. With a huff Jak swiped a finger along the tablet and switched to the next page.

“Eco shortage,” Jak mumbled, and his brow furrowed. He focused on the words in front of him—Samos’ mind-numbingly boring writing matched the man’s mind-numbingly boring lectures—but an eco shortage could mean no end of trouble.

“Huh?” Daxter glanced up, and slapped his tail against Jak’s hand when the teen didn’t pay attention. “Jak. Jaaaaaak.”

Jak huffed and glanced to Daxter, then back down to the report. “There’s something up with the eco.”

Daxter sat up, ears perked suddenly. “How?”

Jak scanned a few more paragraphs, mouth moving soundlessly as he read the words. Daxter’s gaze snapped to the teens lips, and his eyes narrowed in thought. He wasn’t as practiced at reading Jak’s lips like he used to be, so he couldn’t be sure what precisely Jak mouthed, but it looked to be something about an unprecedented loss of eco that couldn’t be accounted for the Baron’s excessive giving it away to the metal heads.

“Green’s in much shorter supply than we thought,” Jak mumbled. “Unreported initial hospital shortage—issue with agricultural supply amounts—back stores not updated—undisclosed blockage in the flow—missing documentation—interruptions in the green…wait. This sounds like…” Jak cocked his head to the side and his ears twitched with surprised interest.

“Sounds like what,” Daxter said slowly. He had a bad feeling.

“Remember those old ruins?” Jak looked toward Daxter, eyes beginning to light up. “The one outside of Sandover with the blue supply that powered the town, and then the one over in Rock Village and the yellow one up in the mountain by all the Lurker’s and—”

“Yeah,” Daxter interrupted. “I remember. An’ I remember near dyin’ half the time beatin’ back all kinds of shit. So?”

“We never did find a green supply,” Jak pointed out.

“Never needed to,” Daxter shot back.

“What if it’s been turned off? Like the others? What if there’s a ruin nearby that can turn the supply back on?” Jak breathed out quickly. “If we can correct the shortage of green eco than we can increase the supply, which will help the hospitals and the agriculture district—there’s some reports of metal head activity and dark eco contamination in the area from what Torn mentioned—and we know how dark eco responds to green—”

Daxter sucked in a breath while Jak rambled on, and then snapped out a quick, “JAK!” to get the teen’s attention again. Jak jerked and blinked, startled out from his sudden rambling. He flushed faintly. He used to ramble all the time when they were younger, a rush of gestures and semi-sounds when he found something interesting, and while Daxter felt a bit ashamed to interrupt Jak _now_ he needed to slow the young man down. Words were harder to follow than Jak’s silent communication—sometimes he spoke a little too fast for Daxter.

“An’,” Daxter said slowly, “what d’you think ol’ greenie’s gonna say to this? Jak, my man, as much as I _looove_ our old adventures—and honestly I don’t miss ‘em one bit, dealin’ with the ruins and the Acherons was fuckin’ terrifyin’ and you can’t convince me otherwise buddy—we just got outta one mess of an adventure and we’re stuck in the fryin’ pan of another.”

“Nobody knows precursor shit like we do,” Jak pointed out.

Daxter huffed. “ _Jaaaaak_ ,” he drawled out, “we don’t even know where to _look_.”

Out of all of his arguments, that seemed to get Jak to settle down. He frowned, nodded slowly, and tried to think of what they could do.

“We’d have to find it first,” Jak agreed. 

“An’ we _can’t_ ,” Daxter pointed out.

Jak sighed and stared at the tablet in thought. There must be some kind of record about ruins, _something_ to indicate where they were. Jak wanted to sit down and hunt the information—if he could he’d spend days doing it, they _needed_ green eco according to these reports—and yet—and yet.

Daxter’s point stood, and Jak slouched down with a frustrated groan.

“I’ll ask Zoe to look when she can,” Jak mumbled. Zoe knew most of the legends and the stories that surrounded Haven better than anyone. Jak didn’t doubt she could unearth the location— _time_ simply remained the factor. Nobody had time.

* * *

 

“We’ll have to reveal him to the public at large at some point,” Samos said tiredly. “They’ll want to know that Haven has a King again.”

Zoe sipped at her drink and stared just to the left of Samos. She let out a faintly disdainful snort at the idea that the public desired to know that the Monarchy found itself reinstated. The public didn’t decry Damas being removed from the throne, they rejoiced. She knew more went on behind the chosen removal of the House of Mar—back dealings, promises of support, shady agreements. Zoe didn’t doubt even Samos’ fingers dipped in a few pies, too. The entire mess leading up to Damas’ banishment involved a lot of political maneuvering including subtle propaganda.

“The public won’t care,” Zoe said. “Most of the adults now will remember when Praxis took over. They won’t accept it. The Council and Nobility barely do.”

“Yet you were the one to crown him King,” Samos harrumphed. “Nary a thought, no protest—everyone followed your lead.”

Zoe laughed and gave Samos a sharp, bitter smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t see Damas in the boy, Samos? Did you think you could hide him from _me_ , or from _Vin?_ Please. I babysat that man-child, I’d recognize his _son_ anywhere.”

Samos pursed his lips.

“I don’t know how you got a hold of the boy,” Zoe set her cup down. “Honestly I don’t quite care. If you stole him from his mother or stole him from his crib it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, a little ignorant and broken perhaps, but finally Mar’s blood is back in Haven. That’s about the only _right_ thing you’ve done recently.”

Samos frowned and tapped his fingers on his cane. He looked off to the side. “I didn’t steal him, Zoe. I may have…participated in the removal of Damas, but I didn’t steal his only son.” Samos sighed. “I didn’t know about the boy, I don’t know his circumstances, how he got here—I only found him on the streets with Mar’s symbol around his neck.” Samos sighed. “I don’t even know if Damas still lives.”

Zoe peered at him. “Your time in the past certainly aged you,” she murmured. Samos shot her a frustrated look. “But…is that why you don’t share the name of his father?”

Samos clenched his hands over his cane. “I _didn’t know_ , Zoe.”

“You know _now_ ,” Zoe pointed out, but she didn’t push it beyond that. Instead she tapped her fingers on the table; her thoughts drifted through the ramifications of revealing Jak to the public at large. Reinstating the Monarchy looked all well and good, and Jak certainly kept his wits about him, but with the way the public worked—so soon after Praxis’ tyranny—Zoe feared.

“After the shield wall goes up,” Zoe said carefully. “After we clear out the heavily infested districts. After the recovery efforts prove themselves— _then_ we reveal Jak. Until such a time he must remain as he is now.”

“With his hair the way it is, we won’t keep it secret for long,” Samos grunted.

“ _I_ didn’t choose to style it,” Zoe sniffed.

“We needed the physical reminder,” Samos pointed out sharply.

Zoe hummed in agreement. “There’ll also be rumors spread by the lesser nobles, those with money…anyone with an agenda, really. We’ll need to counteract them as best as we can. Keep them quiet….”

“Or let them run.” Samos leaned forward and tapped his cane against the ground. “If we squash the rumors the public will become adamant to unearth them. Part of the Underground’s success came from those very tactics, used by Praxis; it worked to our favor, and against him.”

“And what of the embargo?” Zoe quarried. “We’ve got Wastelanders in the city who demand to be let out.”

“Until the shield is functioning there isn’t much we can _do_ ,” Samos leaned back and sighed exhaustedly. “Then there’s the eco we have to worry about, on top of everything….”

Zoe frowned.

“I do not like this,” she said. “This waiting and sitting and plotting. I do not like relying on what-if’s and scenarios we can hardly predict. Without enough facts, without a concrete understanding of the situation—the players, the people—we’re running this blind. That…worries me. 

Samos sighed. “It worries me too.”

* * *

 

Veger frowned over his cup as he stared at the reports in front of him. He didn’t bother to glance over at Koray who shuffled through papers and his tablet with soft, frustrated growls, as he contemplated the situation before him now. The abomination— _Jak_ —began to actually pose problems in the grand scheme of things. Enough problems that Veger now found himself contemplating if he could spin things properly in the direction he wanted.

“This…refugee plan,” Veger mused. “How set on it are they?”

“They’re recruiting out of the Hog for volunteers to move all the stuff in the stadium,” Koray grumbled. “The Green Sage’s tart’s already cleared out her own space and is supervising the stockpiles of green eco inventory. Alyín’s doing most of the recruiting in the Hog, publicly now ‘alive’ while Zoe and Ashelin work together for the best target plan to get things cleaned up and running.”

“So…they’re committed,” Veger mused. If the Sage lines were committed the moves Veger could make became limited. The people, ultimately, will rally behind the Sage lines. The council might initially object, but once the first few refugee’s arrive most of those objections would fall to the wayside. The fact that the abomination and his friends offered up the _Stadium_ as viable space and left the higher end district primarily alone otherwise would instantly win them favor.

That, among a few other points, leaned toward Alyín or Ashelin’s influence. Veger could see the tactical hints from Zoe around the details of the plan, and Mar’s—Jak’s—the abomination’s—brash influence practically screamed from all over the place. If nothing else this mess would endear the boy to the public. The masses, once they finally learn that the one to implement this saving plan happened to now be their King and rightful heir to House Mar, well anything Veger planned to happen then would be moot.

“How to turn this in my favor,” Veger mused. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. Most of what he wanted became moot—the brat escaped, so any of his studies were ruined, especially now that he’d been tarnished with that blasted dark eco. The whole ‘prophecy’ nonsense put a crimp into everything but Veger found ways around that; ways that were becoming harder and harder to accomplish now.

“Not really much you can do unless they fuck up somewhere,” Koray huffed.

“Try and trip them up, won’t you?” Veger posed lightly, and gave Koray a narrow eyed smile.

“Alyín knows how I work,” Koray pointed out.

“She’s not been around you for years, Mr. Aksoy,” Veger chided. “Have I taught you nothing in that time?” Koray’s silent huff told him everything. “Oh, and dear boy?”

“Yes sir?” Koray looked up from his work.

“Find Onin. She and I…have some business to discuss,” Veger mused. He set his glass down.

“But—But she’s in the Market District!” Koray protested. “That’s—”

“You’ll be fine,” Veger waved a negligent hand. “I merely said find her, didn’t I?” He walked from the room without another word, contemplating what his next move should be. Whatever Onin said would inevitably influence things as they always did—how to turn that influence into his favor merely remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to build up a buffer of chapters, but I felt it's been long enough that I should honestly give you guys something. I do have Chapter 10 already completed and I'm working on Chapter 11 -- alongside working on another fanfic and on my novel. I also start work again on Monday.
> 
> Considering I wrote some of my best after my papa's (my da's da) passing and when I started work last time, you might not have to wait long for me to build up that buffer. Once I do get that buffer built up I'll have a posting schedule of bi-monthly, posted on the weekends. I'll get that figured out once I have more than a chapter ahead.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path of fate has changed, so what does that mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, past rape mention and panic attacks in this chapter. Also discussions of attempted murder, reliving attempted murder, and referencing past drug abuse / alcoholism, and past suicide attempt. All in all...not a happy chapter.

Pecker kept himself small, huddled in between boxes and crates to not cast a shadow on the tent walls. He glanced cautiously over toward Onin who sat cross legged surrounded by various trinkets while she meditated. Pecker shivered while he listened to the telltale shuffling of the Metal Heads outside the tent canvas. He watched through the thinnest cracks along the bottom of the tent the creatures sniff around. With bated breath Pecker waited until they shuffled off, the sounds becoming distant.

“That was close,” Pecker huffed. Onin tilted her head, turned it in his direction calmly. “Oh please don’t give me that look.” Her lips twitched up and Pecker could easily read the minute gestures that told him all he needed to know.

 “That is bullshit and you know it,” Pecker pointed out in response to what he read. He huffed and flew over to Onin exhaustedly. “How much longer are we going to be stuck here anyway?”

Onin sighed breathlessly and shifted. Pecker watched for the signs of communication, the twitches of fingers that were far subtler than when she made grandiose gestures at her guests. Pecker frowned best he could at what he read there.

“You needn’t be so hard on yourself,” Pecker said quietly. “Please, Onin.”

Onin twitched her head and pushed air through her nose in another huff. She opened sightless eyes and turned them toward Pecker tiredly. This time she made a sharp gesture with her hand, twisting the rest and curling the fingers. She shifted in her spot, face curling with more words.

“Well yes something is obviously different,” Pecker agreed. “This rescue is taking far too long!” He let out a faint squawk. “That doesn’t mean you should doubt yourself.” Pecker poked her in the head. “You haven’t been wrong yet.”

Onin frowned. She poked Pecker back and moved her fingers in an intricate pattern. She drew faint lines of light eco into the air, and then waved her hand through it the next second to wipe the trace. Pecker glanced to the front of the tent, tensed, and waited to see if any Metal Heads made their way back at the scent of eco. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

"Honestly Onin you worry too much,” Pecker said bluntly. “We’ll be out of here soon enough and Jak will finish his destiny. So what if it’s a little different? That’s just the minor details.” Onin arched an eyebrow. “Well yes I’m upset! This rescue is taking far too long. You think they’d come get us first thing, won’t you?”

Onin frowned and poked Pecker in the forehead. She made a small gesture, then sighed wordlessly. Pecker frowned.

"This doubting is not like you," Pecker said. Onin rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Just wait and see. As you've forseen so shall it come to pass." Pecker paused, then slumped over with a sigh. "Although I admit I am not looking forward to that bit with all the sand. Or that Vegan fellow. Or any of it with the daystar thing." Pecker stared down at the ground and completely missed Onin's silent response. "I know it is fate, but to pin it on him? On them? It feels like a sham."

Onin placed her hand atop Peckers head and bowed her own in understanding. More than anyone they understood the chains of fate.

* * *

"We need to discuss the eco situation before we get any further on the recovery efforts," Jak brought up before greetings could be provided.

"Eco situation?" Keira questioned with a frown. She glanced around the table and noted that out of everyone only Samos and Zoe seemed to know what Jak meant.

Jak licked his lips and flicked his fingers against the table. Abruptly in front of everyone the reports began to scroll. "These are the records we have on Praxis' exchange of eco with Kor." Jak made a gesture and the lines of red, blue, and yellow eco lit up. "From what he recorded Praxis traded in red, blue, yellow and dark eco considering the overabundance of it. Not once did he send Kor a barrel of green."

"Considering how green and dark interact," Keira murmured in understanding. Alyin glanced to her, then to Jak. Ashlin blinked.

"What do you mean?" Ashlin questioned. "How they interact?"

Keira looked over to Ashlin, and then made a short gesture. "Green eco and dark eco interact poorly. With an overgrowth of dark green is used as a cleansing agent. It counteracts the corrosive influence and rejuvenates. That's why we need green eco in the cleansing process; fire'll work for disease but to cleanse the taint of the dark eco we do need to bathe the pits in green...."

"So  _that's_  why you mentioned the green eco," Aylin said surprised. "That makes sense...."

"Except we're short," Jak said slowly, and that grabbed the younger generation's attention. Torn stiffened at his back. "It went largely unreported but the hospitals have a green shortage; while there are unreported missing barrels of all types of eco, the unreported missing barrels of red, blue, yellow, and dark match up with the records we do have of Praxis' deals with Kor."

"An' then there's the green stuff that's jus' missin' entirely," Daxter said darkly. "Which means either someone's been hoardin' shit, or somethin' else is going on."

Jak pulled up the information on the green flows and pointed out the discrepancies. He highlighted the comments on blockages and the room descended into silent, contemplative reading for a minute. He didn't say his thoughts out loud just yet, instead glanced to Keira. Keira knew most about eco flows out of everyone back in Sandover. Her intense interest into precurian technology helped, and then with Samos for an adoptive father she learned plenty on how the eco flows worked. From her seat Keira stood up, moved her hands alongside the report and then pulled up a map to coincide with it.

"Keira what are you doing?" Samos harrumphed tiredly but stalled when Zoe held up a hand. She also got to her feet and shifted around the table to see what Keira saw.

"What do you notice, child?" Zoe questioned quietly. She glanced between Jak and Keira curiously. "What do  _both_  of you notice."

Keira blinked and looked to Jak. "You see it too, right?" Jak nodded slowly.

"Like when the blue lines were closed," Jak said softly. "When the Acherons...."

"That's what I thought," Keira agreed. Carefully she tapped out a few quick commands--Zoe took the time over the past few days to get her acquainted with the system. "The question becomes how long and if there is a pattern...."

"There is," Jak agreed softly. He got up and quickly pulled up the relevant files. In between reading through the reports for the preparations to the Stadium and the Waterfront, both performed as quietly as Keira and Daxter and the Underground could make it, Jak delved into the reports and history in regards to the eco flows in an attempt to suss out a pattern for the eco shortage if he could. "See here? These records go back to before Praxis took over."

"I'm not the only one lost, am I?" Koray muttered quietly, and Alyin shook her head with a frown.

For a moment Keira and Jak went back and forth in half-sentences and thoughts while the rest of the Council tried to follow. Daxter occasionally would pipe up some nonsensical comment that only both teens understood. Out of the entire council Zoe and Samos seemed to have some vague idea what what they three discussed. This back and forth continued for some time until Ashlin grew tired of the lack of explanation, stood up, and slammed her hands down onto the table to gather everyone's attention.

"Jak!" Ashlin snapped out and Jak jerked his head up. "What are you two even  _talking_ about?"

"The eco lines," Keira said bluntly when Jak just blinked in surprise. "They've been  _turned off_. Why would you even remotely  _do_  that?"

Torn shifted and frowned at the three teens. "It attracts the metal heads," the commander said carefully. "Historically the council decided to shut down the eco lines for the protection of the city itself."

"That makes no sense!" Keira threw her hands up in a huff. "You crippled the city to  _protect_  it? What kind of nonsense--" Jak sighed and Daxter let out a loud, "Hey, hey, hey!" before the table could erupt into arguing.

"Lemme get this straight," Daxter said sharply. "Ya'll shut down the eco lines cuz the metal heads are attracted to eco, right?"

Ashlin nodded. "Yes. The Council made the choice several generations back."

Daxter frowned, then glanced to Jak who sighed irritably.

"Metal heads are attracted to  _liquid eco_ ," Jak said slowly. "The eco lines filter  _vaporous eco_  to the vents which the metal heads aren't even interested in. Meanwhile you've broken open who knows how many dark eco silos and practically polluted whole sections outside the town walls with liquid dark eco that the metal heads can gorge themselves on. They have an easy source of liquid eco, dark eco, readily available. They don't need to try and harvest any from the eco lines while the dark eco from the silos is still so abundant."

"The lines still hold liquid eco," Ashlin pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's so far deep down that not even the precursor ruin with the control switch can reach it," Keira pointed out. "You know we  _barely_ interacted with liquid eco before the metal head invasion right? If any of the Sage's wanted to touch eco in its liquid form they had to condense it back down after harvesting the vapor from a nearby vent."

"That's what always bugged us 'bout the whole tradin' eco thing with Kor," Daxter pointed out. "They didn't  _need_  it."

For a moment the table remained silent in complete shock. Then, carefully, Ashlin asked the question that lingered on the older council members mind. "How...do you know this?"

Jak blinked. He glanced at them one by one. "I was taught it," Jak said carefully. "During my...stay in Praxis' care." He didn't like to honestly think about the knowledge Praxis and Erol stuffed into his head during the two years he stayed in their tender mercies, between the eco treatments and assessments. Jak breathed out slowly. "Did honestly  _none_  of you know this?" Jak glanced to Samos and to Zoe who both held thoughtful frowns on their faces.

Zoe sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down her face with sudden exhaustion. Samos tightened his grip on his cane.

"We were informed that the 'dark eco' outside of the walls in fact contained poison," she said softly, "and indeed all tests done by House Azul proved such."

"Agreed," Samos said. "We were lead to believe the dark eco outside the walls in fact meant nothing to the metal heads. The research and the data backed it up." Samos sagged. "To think he'd gone so far..."

"We don't even have records of where the switches  _are_  anymore," Zoe said bitterly. "They were destroyed some sixty, seventy years ago...."

Jak exchanged a glance with Keira and Keira nodded. "Look, I have a few suggestions for that, things to look out for, locations from Sandover that I can remember. We never dealt with the green line, never needed to, but the blue, yellow and red ones I can give you rough approximations based from there."

"If we follow the pattern of the other eco lines, we might be able to pull up where the green line is as well," Zoe agreed. "First things first though we need to focus on the recovery efforts."

"Eco is just as important, especially green!" Keira argued. Samos' hand stopped her from continuing.

"Keira," Samos said lightly and Keira glanced back to him. "Let Zoe and I handle the eco lines. You, Jak, and Daxter provide the information on the previous locations and we'll run from there. The rest of you should focus on the recovery efforts and where to spend our attention. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, and for the time being we can make do with what green we do have. We're short, but we're not in the red just yet."

"We will be if we don't take care of it," Ashlin said softly.

"Definitely," Aylin agreed, "but Zoe and the Shadow are right. We need to prioritize. So, back to the recovery efforts and the space requirements; what do we have to work with?"

* * *

 Koray knew his own strengths and weaknesses like the back of his hand. Hunt down Onin in the middle of Metal Head infested territory amounted to suicide, but Koray knew to ignore Veger on something so important spelt trouble. Easily enough the answer settled with the Sage Lines and the Council that the freak designed. The Market District sat closest to Main Town aside from the Agricultural District which made it a prime target for immediate rescue. Koray planned to bring it up in favor of the people of Haven; not even Alyin could refute him  _that_. After all House Karga focused on the people.

While the rest of the group discussed the logistics of removing the equipment in the Stadium pits and the Stadium itself, Koray flipped through the reports on the most damaged areas and House Praxis' assessment of the damage thus far. While they brought up Eco storage and the shortage concerns, Koray dragged his fingers along the comments towards the advantages and disadvantages of their current position. He noted the rate of food, the concerns in regards to metal head incursion in the Agricultural District, the supplies potentially remained in the Market District.

With the freak and his sycophants Koray knew he'd need to phrase his change to the plan just so in order to get them to go along. If not  _Jak_  then at least Aylin and one of the other Houses. When the meeting began to die down in regards to the plans--somehow the Waterfront became refugee location number two for those not sick and infirm, which meant that they'd need to build shelters for the people and given the amount of open space over the water the shelters would be housed  _there--_ Koray could see the outcry of turning such a centralized location into essentially a secondary slums district.

"I have a proposition," Koray said cautiously in a slight lull in the conversation where Zoe, Samos and Ashlin made notes and adjustments. Aylin shot him a look, an arched eyebrow that conveyed the cold 'and what are you doing now?' that found itself in all House Karga women. Koray continued on and ignored the look. "We've made a note on the eco shortage and on how best to settle the refugees but we're ignoring two major districts that could provide additional room to house people temporarily."

Koray quickly brought up the Agricultural District and then the Market District. "You can see here that reported damage to both districts are minimal," Koray highlighted primarily the borders. "In fact for the Agricultural District borders itself against both the Waterfront and Main Town. Freeing that space would ease the public's understanding and raise open,  _land bound_  areas to house refugees not deemed a health risk."

Aylin leaned forward and looked over what Koray marked down. "Interesting," she murmured, and Koray knew she could see the same he could--the strangeness in the revelation that only  _one_  path between the Waterfront and to Main Town that focused solely on the Palace itself.

"Plus there is the concern of an increase in metal head activity within the Agricultural District itself," Koray pointed out carefully. "The corruption of crops and food will lead toward an increase in disease and dark eco levels among the common populace."

Samos frowned and Jak furrowed his brow in thought. Koray watched House Haggai put together the details and waited. Keira spoke up instead of her father though, and Koray twitched her head in the young girl's direction.

"In order to free up the agricultural areas of Haven we need to use the green eco to cleanse what damage the crops already suffer from," Keira pointed out. "Green eco we don't have to spare."

Aylin nodded. "The space increase you bring up, and the health increase, are good points Koray," she said calmly, fingers steepled together, "but in this case I feel that even House Karga can't support the change in focus. While we might gain space to place cleared refugees we run the risk of an increase in sick and inform, lowering the locations where we can store them and increasing the rise of disease among the populace without a clear way to keep them down."

"Plus you need to think of the bodies contaminating the rest of the city itself," Ashlin agreed. "We need to clean out the heavily infested areas first, focus on reclaiming sections of the city we've lost entirely. We haven't completely lost the Agricultural District or the Market District; they're under attack, but still fairly clear of metal head incursion."

"Beyond even that," Zoe spoke up, voice sharp, "the shield wall needs immediate repair, especially if we are to take back  _any_  part of this city. The equipment for that resides  _only_  in the Industrial District under the purview of House Azul."

Koray clenched his fists and glanced about the room. While the others considered, his plan still removed itself from the table. He clenched his teeth.

"What about the Prison," Koray said cautiously. "The medical facilities there--"

"--are not worth dredging out," Jak said shortly and everyone froze. "The Prison doesn't house any green eco on site, therefore reclamation of the Prison is not a priority."

Ashlin exchanged a glance to Torn who stiffened behind Jak, and Aylin looked over at Koray whose lips tugged into a faint sneer.

"The other stores of eco alone could increase our fire power, not to mention the use of the KG supplies that were contained there--" Koray started, but Aylin cut him off by dragging him right back into his seat with a sharp glare. Her normally amber eyes glowed bright yellow with her fury.

"Koray, enough," Aylin said coldly. "Sire, House Karga apologizes for speaking out of turn." Jak inclined his head. "It is our consideration to leave the Prison as it is. When we reclaim the Industrial District we can look towards that path if we find ourselves short on the eco supply.  _That_  is House Karga's suggestion in regards to the reclamation."

The sudden turn toward formality left Koray frozen solid. Obviously he'd overstepped into something, and with a gentle incline of his head for apology Koray observed the group as a whole. Praxis knew something, as did the traitor and Zoe, although Koray couldn't be certain toward what. Most likely something that Erol worked on, given the stiffened nature of Torn's spine or the way Ashlin seemed to suddenly regain the privileged stick up her ass.

The eco  _freak's_  silence and near black eyes helped cinch the matter toward something Erol worked on. Most probably something in regards to the Dark Warrior Program, then. Koray pondered for a moment what secrets the prison could be hiding before he settled back to silently observe the rest of the meeting. A minor setback, the thought to have the recovery efforts designed by Jak to rescue Onin was a good one, but the opposition meant that Koray would have to seek this out on his own. The thought of entering territory claimed by the beasts, tainted by the dark eco--well, Koray wasn't a fighter at heart. That didn't mean however that he didn't know how to fight when necessary.

* * *

 

Jak breathed a settling breath through his nose while the room cleared out, the meeting finally come to an end. He stared down at the streets of Haven, hands clenched tight to mask the faint tremble to them. Daxter kept himself rather still, fingers on his hands gently tugged through his braids, a silent form of support. Once the meeting finished Torn shifted to settle against a wall and kept one eye on Jak, and one on the departing members. Jak felt rather grateful that Torn out of everyone recognized Jak's reluctance to deal with any member of House Karga and carefully steered Aylin out of the room with a shaken head and a soft word.

When finally everyone left, aside from Samos and Torn--Kiera lingered in the doorway, curious and cautious and not-at-all like the Keira Jak could remember. Jak glanced to her before he kept his gaze solely on the streets below.

"The boy had a point," Samos spoke as he moved over toward Jak. The soft clump of his feet thudded heavy to Jak's ears. They drooped faintly. "We might need the eco stored at the Prison." Samos slapped his staff into the ground with frustration. "There is no telling how much eco Praxis stored--"

"There is no green eco in the Prison," Jak said stiffly, voice clipped, "and that is the only eco we'd need at this time."

Samos frowned and hummed in thought. He sighed exasperatedly after a second. "Just because the inventory records state one thing--"

"The inventory records say  _nothing_  on the eco stored there," Jak tightened his fists and dug sharpened nails into his palms. He closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders inward a bit, ears dropped down. "There is too much blue, some yellow, some red, but  _no green._ "

"Jak," Samos said slowly, but before he could continue Torn stepped in, shifted from his position against the wall. Keira also spoke up, a soft, "Daddy," to get Samos' attention before Torn completely overtook her.

"Jak's right, Shadow," Torn said. "Praxis never felt the need for green eco to be stored at the prison, there's always been too much blue eco anywhere near the Guard and the locations they frequent, and the little yellow and red also stored there worked as spare ammunition than anything."

Samos seemed paused, a frown tugged at his mouth as he stared at Torn and then glanced to Jak and the way Jak's shoulders trembled faintly. He reached out a hand to place on Jak's shoulder, meant to be a calming or understanding gesture. A spark of dark eco snapped at his fingers and Samos jerked back with a hiss. He looked between his hand and then over at Jak. For a moment Samos wanted to say something--something about the dark eco that bubbled just beneath Jak's skin. For a moment Samos wondered how he never  _saw_  it, saw the depths of the eco that coiled in the teenager.

Then Samos pulled his hand back, let out a soft sigh even as Jak tensed further. He kept his thoughts to himself, intent to puzzle this one out further--and for a moment he wondered if he'd forgotten something, somewhere, that happened between now and Sandover. Samos knew he probably had; a lot of what Samos once knew he'd lost already due to age and distance and probably something to do with the rift and timetravel and two of him existing in one space--Samos huffed, and then turned.

"Very well," Samos said. "That shield wall is the priority for the moment." He paused to say something else, Samos thought toward all that he'd seen out of Jak these past weeks, before he sighed and carefully began to lead Keira from the room as well. Jak remained stiff and tense, small sparks of dark eco jolted from his shoulders. Daxter dug his claws in a bit deeper against Jak's skull as he dragged them through the braids.

For a moment the room sat in tense silence, and then Jak let out a heavy, shaken breath. One moment he stood tense, and then his knees felt weak and his vision felt hazy and all Jak wanted to do was settle into the ground. He didn't even notice Torn slip from the wall and grip his upper arm, tight but loose enough that if Jak wanted he could break free without any enhanced strength. Torn held on despite the eco that singed at his skin; instead the commander tugged until Jak settled down onto the floor and he knelt next to the teen.

"In, and out," Torn said carefully, "breathe with me, Jak." Jak glanced to him and Torn exaggerated breathing in and then breathing out, and Jak slowly began to follow. "That's it. In, and out."

In, and out. The haze began to settle a little, the trembling to his limbs eased up just the slightest bit. Jak could feel Daxter's claws in his scalp, a steady pressure of faint pinpricks. In, and out. The tightness in his chest began to loosen, and for a moment his breath wavered and hitched. In, and out. Jak's hands began to slowly unclench, the faint coppery scent of blood hit his nostrils and the sting felt sharper, more intensive.

"That's it, Jak, in and out."

In, and out. In, and out. His eyes burned and Jak choked lightly on his breath before he sucked in another. It began to hit back at him, hit home that even  _Samos_  agreed until Torn backed Jak up, backed up his knowledge with cold efficiency. Even  _Samos_  felt like they should unearth the prison just for what might be contained there. Samos who  _knew_ , who  _had to know--_

 _"Jak!_  In, and out. With me," Torn snapped out and Jak sucked in a sharp, hitched breath and the burning in his eyes eased with tears. "There you go. You with me? In and out, Jak. Come on, kid."

It crashed down on him at once and Jak leaned his head forward until it rested against Torn's clavicle. His shoulder's shook, and his breathing came in soft, steady breaths as his black coated eyes stared down at Torn's lap.

"Come on, kid," Torn murmured. "You're here. You're here."

Torn could admit he'd never quite seen Jak just crumble before. He'd found the kid in terrible situations, and those first few weeks once he'd escaped from the prison Torn often found himself seeking out the kid in whatever alcove he'd holed up in before Jak fully accepted that in the Underground's HQ he was welcome, he was relatively safe, and could sleep without fear. As far as Torn understood Jak broke down in private, with just Daxter around to pull him back out--there wasn't a chance Jak  _didn't_  break down, unless he'd actually been pressing himself onward for a year without letting himself quite reach the reality that no longer was he there, in the prison, in the  _Program_.

Torn sighed out heavily, kept his breathing steady even when it hurt just the slightest bit to do so.

"It took me a long time to wake up in the morning and feel like each day wasn't a mistake," Torn said quietly. "It took me a long time to be capable of sleep without seeing someone I'd once trusted implicitly take my knife and kill me with it." Jak stilled for the most part, just breathed although his shoulders shook. Given the way his ears perked Torn had his attention. "To go to sleep and not feel myself choke, to be capable of breathing, of even touching a knife without trembling or being sick." Torn's voice shook faintly and he focused on his own breathing for a moment.

"How did you do it?" Jak asked, voice a dead whisper.

Torn closed his eyes. "For a long time I didn't. I repressed and suppressed whatever I could. Every memory, every bite of betrayal I shoved it away and dealt with every day as a job. Work to be done, couldn't focus on it, not now." Jak stilled almost completely. "Until one day I couldn't anymore."

Jak pulled back a little, and Torn could see the blue in his eyes again. Torn licked his lips and glanced away.

"Tess found me," he said hoarsely, "bleeding." Jak pulled back further. "She didn't leave me alone after that. Stayed at my side, forced me to rest, forced me to take care of myself and when I didn't, did so for me." Torn looked to Jak. "She ingrained herself so fully into my life, brought me back from that edge...." Torn breathed in and out. "Tess was my Daxter," he said eventually, glanced to the little rodent on Jak's shoulder and Jak blinked in understanding.

Daxter grabbed a few of Jak's locks tightly.

"No one needs to know anything of what happened if you don't want them to," Torn said carefully and Jak stared at him with such a broken look that Torn wanted to resurrect Erol and Praxis if only to give them a taste of the hell they'd put this kid through. "Ashlin and I have been working on removing all of the records so that only  _you_ can let others read them."

Jak swallowed. He breathed, "You know?"

Torn closed his eyes and nodded once.

"We kept an eye on the program," Torn said, "and when you joined up with the Underground I needed to know what to expect from you, and what to watch out for." Torn sighed. "Vin got the information. He made me swear to never use any of it, especially in regards to you." Unsaid went 'or against you' and Jak could pick up the subtleties there, that Torn knew what Praxis and Erol did to attempt to control him, to control the beast they'd created in two years of torture.

"How...much?" Jak asked.

"Anything in an official capacity," Torn said. "Anything further than that..." Torn shook his head. "It's not my place to know unless you want me to."

Daxter leaned forward and stared at Torn's face. "An...that's it? Nothin else?" Daxter questioned.

Torn looked to Daxter. "It's not my place," Torn said calmly. "If you want to tell me, then that's your choice." He looked back to Jak. "Your health is my job, Jak. I take care of my own. I always have." Torn squeezed Jak's arm. "If you want to talk, I'm here. If you need to break down, I'm here."

"S'why you kept dragging us in outta the cold," Daxter murmured, as if he suddenly just got it. Torn knew they'd figured that much out long ago, he'd overheard them discussing it in the dead of the night once or twice. Torn inclined his head in agreement either way.

"How did..." Jak struggled, not sure if he should ask, but Torn gave him a bitter smile.

"What happened to me?" Torn asked, and Jak nodded slowly. "You saw Dead Town." Jak swallowed and nodded again. "My squad was sent there to...save it, we were told." Torn sighed. "We were actually sent there to die." Jak froze. "Praxis...already deemed Dead Town a loss. When we tried to evacuate, when we asked for reinforcements he..." Torn sighed. "He sent in another squad to slaughter us instead, to ensure we didn't save anyone."

Torn let go of Jak's arm and rubbed at his neck.

"I thought they'd come as back up," he murmured, "instead as I went to call to my men Erol grabbed my knife from my belt and slit my throat." Torn stared off into the distance. "I later learned I'd died for several minutes, and only the Shadow and his underground is the reason why I survived, why  _anyone_  survived."

"Erol...?" Daxter hissed between his teeth, almost inaudible. Torn opened his mouth to agree,  _yes, Erol_  because he knew what that sounded like. Erol at one point his friend? The man who'd single handedly ruined so many lives for fun, a  _friend?_  Torn didn't have an explanation for it, aside from he'd honestly thought he could trust Erol, trust Praxis--he was naive.

Then Jak blurted out before he even could say anything, a weak sort of hoarse whisper, "I was raped."

Torn froze, then let out a slow breath.  _That_  explained everything.

"As--as a means to control me. I...he..."

Torn closed his eyes, got to his feet, and offered Jak his hand. Jak blinked in surprise.

"Come on, kid," Torn said tiredly. "Let's go somewhere...else for this. More comfortable." He paused, then added, "With booze." Jak stared at him and Torn looked down. " _Strong_  booze. Pretty sure there's some stashed away somewhere in this maze of a palace."

"You..."

Torn's lips twisted and he said, "We can share our respective stories over a good drink if you really want. Share what an asshole Praxis and Erol were, what twisted up pieces of shit they've done and rejoice in their deaths." Torn chuckled darkly. "Honestly they got off easy."

"Yeah," Jak murmured in agreement, voice deeper, almost darker. "They did." He took Torn's hand and let the commander tug him to his feet. He licked his lips. "Thanks."

Torn shook his head, let out a bitter laugh, and just lead Jak from the room. He didn't want the thanks; he didn't  _deserve_  it. Torn wanted nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion because he should've seen it. He should've  _known._ After all he alone knew the exact depths Erol fell to; he provided the means once, even. He took Erol to that edge, and Torn didn't bother to stop him from falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been rather busy trying to get my life on the line, getting used to a new medicine, and working through having a job with crazy ass hours while I get ready to head into school again. Depression hasn't made things easy, despite not being in pain all the time. ANYWAY I hope you enjoyed this mess, after a fashion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes were made, and the girls have to clean up as per usual.

Jak stared up at the ceiling from the floor where he’d essentially passed out last night. Draped over the edge of the couch laid Torn, still completely out of it, with a bottle of the hardest liquor they could find just inches from his fingers. Daxter, likewise, snored away on the arm of the couch itself, leaving Jak to his thoughts alone. He’d known some of Torn’s past—it didn’t take much to get on the man’s radar in the Underground, and Jak could admit that for all his abrasiveness Torn looked out for everyone. He’d known that for a long time now.

Silently Jak admitted that _knowing_ and _understanding_ meant two different things, and here Jak was, now awake in the aftermath of accepting Torn’s brand of comfort. _Vices_ , Jak thought bitterly. He knew Tess would have his head for agreeing to the drink; _Jak_ didn’t have a problem with alcohol. It never quite burned right for him anyway with the amount dark eco in his system—much like how _Slipstream_ didn’t work in the conventional sense. Jak scrubbed his hands down his face tiredly, and rolled over to his feet. He glanced to Torn, and then shuffled off to find some water to shove into the man’s face alongside some sort of painkiller for the headache.

On the table sat the communicator, and Jak snagged that when he walked passed to grab the glass of water. He quickly thumbed up Tess’ contact; whatever hour of the day didn’t matter, Tess at least deserved to know the state Torn was in. Jak could remember the little petite blonde storming into the Underground HQ whenever Torn called because of a craving, or someone else called because Torn reached for one of his many vices.

Jak wished he _understood_ instead of just _knew_ what it all meant back then. He sighed bitterly and shuffled back over toward the couch. He owed Torn at least to make sure he knew how to handle the man, or to at least get Tess here to handle him if needed.

“Daxy-poo?”

“Sorry, he’s out,” Jak mumbled and set the glass of water down on the table in front of the couch. He shuffled off to grab a second glass for Daxter. “Dax ‘n’ Torn ‘n’ I had a…night.”

Tess was silent for a moment, then she sighed.

“You got some water there? Any painkillers? How much did he drink?” Tess asked rapidly.

Jak grimaced. “Dunno, actually. Kind of got a bit hazy.” He could hear Tess’ groaned response.

“So he got the good stuff then. _Shit_.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Jak mumbled, turned on the tap, and waited. Tess sighed tiredly; Jak could hear her shuffle about on the other end. It sounded like she intended to make something to drink.

“Sweetheart it’s not your fault,” Tess cooed, and when Jak moved to protest she stopped him. “Ah, ah, I know what you are going to say. Honestly whatever was said, whatever happened, I _know_ it wasn’t your fault. Torn’s been pushing himself.”

“ _Because of_ me _,_ ” Jak pointed out, turned off the tap, and picked up the glass.

“Nuh uh. You’ve been pushing yourself too, Jak. Don’t think Daxy and I haven’t noticed. We still talk, y’know, even if you aren’t by all that often because the old fogey’s wanna keep it all hush hush.”

Jak snorted and set the second glass down. He reached out to check Daxter and Torn’s breathing carefully and then settled himself into an armchair.

“If anyone’s at fault it’s the old man and the rest of the council. I’ve seen how it’s been hurting Aylín too, you know?” A faint beeping came from the other end of the line and Jak could imagine Tess shift around in the little kitchenette above the Ottsel. “Anyway here’s what you are gonna do, you hear me Jak?”

“Mm, yeah?” Jak asked and shifted in his seat.

“You and Torn, and Daxy, are going to take the day. Walk around town, work if you have to, but stay away from any more of his vices— _or yours_.” Jak grimaced. “Whatever it is, you take the day for yourselves. Shove Torn off at Praxis if you need to get him relax, I don’t care what it is. Just…do something small. Nothing big like you guys are all prone to. Please?”

Jak sighed and placed his head between his knees with a mumbled, “Sure, Tess.”

“Good. I’ll grab Alyín and Keira and we’ll do a sweep, clear out anything.”

“I’ll make sure you have clearance to come up.”

“You better,” Tess teased. “Send me a message when they wake up.”

“Kay.”

“And Jak?”

Jak hummed lightly and leaned back into the chair.

“I mean it. Don’t go near any of _your_ vices either. Shit’s tough, and life right now is hard, but it’s _better_ —so trust me when I say it’s not worth it to take that trip again.”

Jak sighed. “I know, Tess. I won’t.”

Tess chirped out a sharp, “Good!” and hung up without a further word. Jak dropped the communicator onto the table and stared over Daxter and Torn with a sigh. _Vices_ , he thought bitterly. A nice and polite word for addiction. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and listened to the loud snoring of Daxter, and the subtler snoring from Torn. Jak could remember clearly the day Torn first discovered his _vices_. His hand shook slightly and he clenched it into a fist.

“Fuck this is such a mess,” Jak mumbled. He shouldn’t have agreed to the drinking. Daxter already had plenty enough issues with alcoholism, not to mention Torn’s own struggles with it. Plus the whole conversation brought up far too many memories for Jak to care to have rattling around in his head. He leaned back into the chair with a groan and barely noticed when Torn started to cough.

Without a word Jak got to his feet and helped the older man up; he tugged the respirator over to get Torn more oxygen into his system while the man woke himself up from the fit. Torn groaned pitifully and grabbed at his head, and then at the mask, and peered up at Jak through squinted eyes.

“We…drank a lot,” Jak mumbled, grabbed the glass and the pills and handed them over. “Called Tess.”

“Great.”

“No drinks, no drugs, no machismo,” Jak said dryly. “She’d prefer no work, but then….” Torn coughed into the glass while he swallowed down the pills.

Daxter woke up next, moaning and groaning until Jak handed him a glass of water and pills which he curled around rather pathetically. Jak shook his head and settled down next to Torn on the couch. The older man had his head between his knees, mumbling curses under his breath.

“How bad?” Torn croaked out.

Jak rubbed at the back of his neck. “ _I_ don’t remember.”

“ _Mar_ ,” Torn hissed and leaned back into the couch. “What we were talking about?”

“Shitty backstories,” Daxter whined. “’m’thinkin’ s’at?”

Jak shrugged. “I know we got into it because of Erol.”

Torn groaned shifted his hand from the respirator to cover his eyes. “That’d do it, yeah.” He could remember how the mess started now; talk about Erol and how fucked over they all were because of the bastard. Torn couldn’t remember if how far into his own dealings with Erol he’d gotten—given the amount they all drank though he very well could’ve touched deeper regrets than he’d want and probably didn’t remember.

“Now what then?” Torn mumbled while Jak picked up the communicator. He sent off a brief message to Tess to let her know everyone woke up and, aside from hangovers, appeared to be rather functional.

“Tess ‘n the girls will be by to clear things out,” Jak mumbled.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Torn hissed between his teeth. One moment of weakness and suddenly once more he needed to face the disappointed gaze of the woman he basically saw as a little sister. Jak leaned back and stared up at the ceiling tiredly.

“An’ whaddya suggest we do?” Daxter bemoaned lightly, instantly regretting the loss of all the wonderful alcohol in the building—but he knew better than to whine about it right now, especially since it’d be Tess coming to clear things out and she’d give him one mean _look_ if she found out he’d whined.

“Dunno. Something productive?” Jak scrubbed his hand over his face again. “Refugee’s will be coming in soon, right?”

Torn blinked, then grimaced. He hadn’t actually checked in on the status of the reclamation project in the past couple of days—like everyone else he’d been focused on what to do _when_ the refugee’s arrived and completely forgot about the fact that they’d already sent troops out to clear the streets. Sure he’d looked at the basic figures they sent back—what areas were the most heavily infested and the ratio of risk versus reward, how many potential survivors they could expect, the amount of dark eco poisoning—but beyond that he set everything aside to review once they knew what they were doing.

With a mild grunt of hungover pain Torn got to his feet and shuffled over to the computer system that sat on a desk off to the side of the lounge in Jak’s rooms. He pulled up the reports that were filed in the system and quickly skimmed through them to try and get a read on how far along things were so far.

“They’ve cleared about three streets into the Industrial District,” Torn said thoughtfully. “Recovered roughly twenty survivors in good condition, another thirty more in poorer condition….”

“Precursors,” Daxter mumbled.

“Lost about twenty men,” Torn continued, brow furrowed. “They’ve piled up bodies of the remaining civilians that didn’t survive for sterilization transport. We’ve got barricades set up at the entrance from the port in the Waterfront, all the way to the first main intersection.”

Torn scanned the rest of the reports that he could quickly, and pulled back with a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes. “The amount of debris and dark eco levels are making progress slow overall.”

Jak breathed out a measured breath. “Alright. We have the pits prepared for cleansing, so let’s start cleaning up the streets of the debris we can. Get the hospitals moving to check the survivors in the safe zones and then settle them where and as needed. The more space we clear up on the streets in the Industrial District the quicker we can move things along.”

“Just like that?” Torn shifted and looked to Jak. “We haven’t even talked with the hospitals and the doctors, we’ve got barely any volunteers to help out refugees and survivors. Jak we can’t just move up operations so quickly.”

“Arguing about logistics is getting us nowhere.”

“The House’s have their own areas of management and expertise,” Torn said exasperatedly. “Their help is invaluable, and it’s how the government _works_.”

Daxter snorted and climbed up onto Jak’s shoulder and jerked his head toward his best friend. “Ain’t he the King?” the ottsel asked. “End all be all of the government an’ all that? Word is law, bow down t’me?” Jak snorted and Torn sighed.

“That’s not how the government _works_ ,” Torn groaned. “Dammit, kid. Just because there is a Monarchy doesn’t mean we don’t have a system in place to provide checks and balances.”

Jak shook his head and glanced down at the communicator.

“Let’s go,” Jak said after a second. “Tess is on her way with Alyín and Keira.”

“Kid—Jak—” Torn started as he stepped away from the computer, but Jak ignored him and headed for the door. “Jak I’m serious—”

“Run with it Tattoed Wonder,” Daxter crowed. “Not changin’ our minds _now._ ”

Exhaustedly Torn followed them. He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Ashelin after this.

* * *

 

Alyín and Tess took the stairs up the palace two at a time, Keira trailing after them silently. They’d come in to her garage while she packed up the last of her personals and dragged her away. Alyín made some sort of phone call, proceeded to assure her she’d make sure the rest of her things got out safe, and then Tess explained the situation. It still left her reeling the fact that they needed to clean out alcohol and possible drugs. Keira couldn’t understand it, really.

Lyra, the main secretary on the first floor of the Palace, stood up the minute the three of them passed through the doors. She made a sharp nod to Alyín and to Tess and quickly moved from around her desk. She held out her hand, along with a purple and white card reminiscent of the passkey’s used to get through the gates throughout Haven.

“Here’s a passkey,” Lyra said, and handed the key over to Alyín. “I was informed of your arrival by King Jak.”

Alyín took the key with a nod and gave Lyra a small smile. “Thank you. Anything specific we should know, Lyra?”

Lyra shook her head, gave a nod to the three girls, and then stepped aside and headed back to her desk. Keira, Alyín and Tess stepped up and into the private elevator without a further word, and only when it slid completely shut did Alyín collapse in on herself. She’d been stormy earlier, and now she looked defeated. Keira glanced to her, and carefully touched her arm.

“Aly?” she asked quietly.

“What are we looking at here, Tess?” Alyín asked tiredly. “Heartburn? Sharpshooter? Liquid Grace? Static Rush? _Slipstream?_ ” The last one Alyín practically spat.

“Alcohol,” Tess said quietly.

Keira looked at Alyín, lips pressed together in thought. “Those are…those are eco drugs, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Alyín replied bitterly. “Torn’s done every single _one_ _of them._ ” She clenched her fists tightly. Keira breathed out explosively and looked at Tess’ stiff stance as well.

“More than that?” Keira leaned against Alyín, a form of silent support. For a moment Alyín didn’t say anything, in fact she just shook her head silently and pressed one hand up to her eyes. Kiera could see the tears there, tears that gathered and she refused to let fall. The young blue-green haired woman pushed a little firmer into Alyín.

Tess glanced to Alyín and sighed. “If this is too hard….”

Alyín shook her head and pursed her lips. “No. No, Torn swore it and I swore I’d keep him to it.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Besides, it’s in the past and if there are…if it’s just alcohol then that’s better.”

The ride up in the elevator lapsed back into silence. Keira glanced to Tess, and then up to Alyín.

“Jak…Jak got into this stuff?” Kiera questioned. Tess glanced to her and pressed her lips together.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Tess said quietly. “I don’t know if he got into it, or if he didn’t have a choice Keira. I do know he’s kept himself clean, though.” She looked up. “Daxter too.”

Keira leaned a bit more heavily into Alyín when the older girl mumbled, “Doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way.”

Keira closed her eyes.

“Then we’ll make sure they will,” she said, opened them, and stood tall. “All of us.” Alyín nodded sharply, and glanced to Tess who gave each of them a small smile.

“Alright,” she chirped. “Let’s start with searching all of Jak’s place. Alyín?”

Alyín chuckled and shook her head. She never did understand how Tess could shift from serious to chipper in seconds. “I’ll gather up all of the booze. You guys check to make sure there isn’t anything else.”

Tess nodded and squeezed Alyín’s other arm while Kiera lightly shook her with a small smile.

“Got ya,” Tess agreed. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Kiera nodded. She’d seen her fair share of Slipstream since she started working at the Stadium. A lot of the racers used it, so she had some idea on what to look for. Plus she’d had rudimentary training in eco channeling like everyone else back in Sandover, and while she held more of an inclination for Green she could at least feel the sharp difference between the others to identify them. Plan determined the girls straightened, sucked in deep breaths, and readied themselves to work.

* * *

 

He stretched himself through the pathways and systems, shifted metaphorical limbs as he fully pulled himself back into awareness. He slipped his consciousness into everything, breathed in ways that he didn’t fully comprehend before. His thoughts shifted and churned in ones and zeros, tugged along neural pathways before unavailable to him. He looked through lenses, computers, communication devices, security systems. He settled himself in and _flexed_.

Vin scanned through the streets and noted the metalheads, noted their deepest locations and pits of loathing. He shifted and scanned through the eco grid and the shield wall—through the mine and the surrounding dangers in the waters outside the metal, brick, and mortar walls that surrounded the city and provided both protection and a cage. He let himself calculate and permutate and scan through documents unfettered while he processed just what happened. How long had it been since he’d been _this aware?_

It took a small portion of his concentration to activate the repair systems on the turrets that Jak busted, and then to initiate the response and targeting system of the turrets still active. He set them on eliminating the metalheads within the city walls, shifted the security cameras to sweep over the pile of shivering civilians and sick, the forces of Underground and KG that were tired and exhausted. He pulled a portion of his awareness into a transport, tugged along small spider-like KG bots to pull supplies that he logged and flagged and noted down as concise as he could.

In the seconds it took to fully pull himself back to awareness Vin sent off information and details that the others missed. He called upon the silent supporters and upon like-minded individuals, profiled those who would cause problems and those who wouldn’t. He restricted information, released information, and settled himself fully into the eco grid, the neural network that made up Haven. Vin shook off the last vestiges of sleep and let himself take control. He’d spent long enough settling in. He spent long enough reorganizing his own thought matrix, shifting and expanding his consciousness and awareness—he’d had to grow used to the new state of his existence.

The lack of power in the power station certainly didn’t help move matters along at a quicker pace. Vin calculated that maybe a month passed since the invasion; a _month_ to settle himself and pull his own consciousness out of the void of data and code into some semblance of _being_ again. It took him long enough; it took them all long enough.

Jak needed Vin. He needed Vin’s help. It was high passed time that Vin actually took a more proactive role in the state of this city. He was Vin of House Asul, last patriarch of the Blue Sage, last of the blue saturates—last of a long line and history that dated to before the metalhead invasion. His ancestor helped create this city, helped design the eco grid—the shield wall—helped pull small villages together into a cohesive unit that _survived_ , and then that _thrived_.

Jak needed Vin like Mar needed Eichel the Blue. Jak _needed_ Vin.

_It was time he stepped up to the plate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vin's back 8D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vin's meddling comes with consequences, and Koray takes matters into his own hands. Sig, meanwhile, isn't sure how he feels. This is a joke, right?

After hours were the boys moved boxes of supplies, checked inventory, and double checked that most if not all of the nonessential equipment had been moved out of the Stadium the last thing Jak expected to see were other people. Torn, whose attention so far focused on the supply lists, arched his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden arrival of a large group of civilians. Daxter actually dropped what he had in hand for a moment from beside Jak, who floundered on what to do about this new development. These were not the people that worked on the move of the Stadium equipment.

Torn shifted the data pad and stepped forward as the crowd drew closer. Jak silently counted the number of people while Daxter scampered onto his shoulder and dug his fingers into the red scarf that wrapped around Jak’s head and hair. Daxter took in the expressions of the group as a whole and tried to piece together what exactly brought these people here.

“I’m sorry,” Torn said clearly; he tucked the data pad under his arm and made sure to project his voice. Jak glanced at him out of the side of his eyes and fought back a frown. “Unfortunately at this time the Stadium is not open for public access. I must ask you to leave.”

“They’re not here for somethin’ public,” Daxter murmured into Jak’s ear.

“We’re here to volunteer!” someone shouted, and Daxter hissed a ‘told ya’ at Jak who rolled his eyes silently before the teen focused his gaze on the direction of the person who shouted.

“I— _what?_ ” Torn visibly gaped and Jak wanted to sigh as Daxter began mimicking the man quietly into Jak’s ear, hiding himself behind Jak’s head so as not to be visible by the civilians—or Torn.

The person who shouted pushed their way through the crowd. A young-ish man, Jak noted, semi-decent clothing. Clean.

“I have medical training,” the young main said clearly.

“And I have worked in social services!” shouted another. They raised their hand and Jak saw a woman this time, clothes a bit more ragged, hair a bit of a mess. Also clean—at least functional as far as livelihood goes, then. This gave rise to more voices and shouts of agreement, exclamations of various jobs and volunteer work—of experience of all types.

The noise level grew quite cacophonous and Jak’s ears tilted back to shy away from the sound without otherwise physically flinching. Torn started to look frustrated at the sudden influx as well; he almost looked like he’d shout the masses down if it’d get them to shut up. Jak folded his ears back a bit further, huffed, and took a firm step forward. He raised a hand and instant hush fell over everyone. The regal, stiff stance—the sharp, commanding eyes and presence—instantly grabbed everyone’s attention. It happened quick enough that Jak blinked in sudden surprise. Beside him now Torn stiffened into parade rest out of instinct. Jak glanced to him with somewhat wide eyes.

Daxter dug his fingers in, a silent reminder that he got it. He understood. Daxter spoke up for Jak; he’d already figured out most about the situation at hand. He shouted, and made sure to project away from Jak’s ears as best he could. “Thanks fer comin’, all of ya. My buddy here,” and Daxter patted Jak on the head with a wide toothy grin, “just didn’t realize ya’ll’d be here so quick!” He leaned further onto Jak’s head, and Jak lightly shoved at the ottsel teen with a faint frown. “If ya’ll don’t mind, could ya quickly refresh my memory ‘bout how ya’ll knew to volunteer?”

The crowd of civilians looked at one another confused. One called out, “We got a message, to a board asking for help? Didn’t you guys send that?”

Jak glanced up to Daxter and sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, although his voice seemed to echo loudly in the sudden silence. “We did.” He wasn’t lying, either. They did actually have a message board set up about the volunteer positions—the council just hadn’t decided on a distribution method to the masses yet.

“Sorry bout that, we got so focused here we must’a forgot we sent that out!” Daxter laughed nervously and scrubbed at the back of his head. “Any of ya got a copy of that message? Wanna make sure we’re on the same page an’ all. Get ya that necessarily intel an’ stuff, y’know?”

An elderly man stepped forward and handed over a small pad that prominently displayed the message and relevant information. Jak and Daxter looked it over with slightly widened eyes.

_Calling volunteers. City needs help. People displaced, ill and in need of supplies some medical care. First transport of rescues today inbound. Injured KG and Underground forces, plus relief efforts. All backgrounds welcome, medical encouraged. Please see attached link for further details and sign up information._

_Marquess of House Asul_  
Duchess of House Karga  
Baroness of House Praxis  
Lord of House Haggai  
King of House Mar

Jak sucked in a soft breath when his gaze landed on that last title, and then carefully he handed the pad to Torn who promptly paled. Jak smiled a little nervously at the crowd, glanced to Daxter with a soft utter of thanks, and then let the ottsel take control again.

“Uhh, right! Yeah that looks accurate. Man I’m sorry guys we got so distracted—” Daxter laughed nervously and scrubbed at his head again. He gave the crowd a sheepish grin that often made people turn into goo—especially women. “Please ya’ll just form some orderly lines over at the Stadium ticket centers! We’ll get ya all checked in shortly here!”

Torn weakly handed the pad to Jak, eyes wide and face not-quite slack if only due to the fact that he’d schooled it into a blank mask. Jak held the pad back out to the elder man.

“Here,” he said softly, a faint red to his cheeks. “I’m really sorry we—”

“No, no, son, I understand,” the elder man uttered. “Ya got a lot going on here. Still good of you—kicking ‘em all into gear like this. Nice having House Mar back home.”

The tips of Jak’s ears turned pink.

“Haha, don’t be so nervous boy!” the man laughed kindly and Jak rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not all of us are blind, y’know? Sides it’s obvious this was sprung on ya. You’re doing good under all this pressure.”

“Thanks,” Jak whispered and ducked his head. Daxter narrowed his eyes at the elder man and mumbled something about observant old fogey’s in Jak’s ear. Jak offered his hand to shake after a second and mumbled a faint, “Jak.”

“Alain,” Alain replied cheerfully and happily shook Jak’s hand with a firm grip. “It’s good to see you boys back after twenty years gone. Now I’ll just help corral all these people while you get yours in place.”

Before Jak could even say anything Alain toddled off toward the moving crowd of people. Jak stared after the old man, and then at the crowd of people for a long second, before he whirled around to Torn, wild-eyed.

“Call Zoe,” he said quickly. His hands shook a little, and Daxter gripped Jak’s hair tightly.

“They weren’t suppose ta reveal ‘im,” Daxter whispered wide-eyed and also shaking a little.

“Torn, call Zoe _now_ ,” Jak snapped out, breath sharp. Torn jerked in srurpsie at the sudden command. “Find out what happened. Dax—”

Daxter patted Jak on the head before he could say anything further, saluted, and scampered down from Jak’s shoulder with a sharp, “On it!” He snagged Jak’s communicator on his way down and then darted off to make the call Jak wanted him to make. Jak scrubbed a hand down his face, breath shaky. Torn reached out, concerned, and gently squeezed Jak’s shoulder until the teen pulled away. The commander nodded once and stepped away to allow Jak a moment of privacy as he went to contact Zoe.

Jak breathed heavily in and out to steady himself. He looked up to the sky and pressed his lips together. This was really happening. People were informed, he was pushing Haven to rebuild. He was King. Jak bit his lip and fought down the manic laughter that worked to bubble up at the sudden rush of hysteria. Precursors this was _really happening_. After weeks and weeks _it was finally, actually, happening._ The truth of it hit him like a freight train and Jak had to close his eyes and hold a hand over his mouth to stop himself from completely losing it.

_He was King Jak of House Mar and people fucking **knew** it._

* * *

 

Like so many others Sig received a message this morning. Normally Sig would’ve listened to the message without question if only to look for Mar in the crowd, or even in the people who’d arrive from the parts of the city inaccessible. He refused to believe the little boy would reside among the dead. Today however Sig answered the call for one reason, and one reason only. The last name upon the list struck a strong cord within him, enough that while he kept a genial smile on his face his heart burned.

Sig looked for anyone who could possibly be the bastard claimant to the title of House Mar while he settled in to volunteer. Certainly he could also look for Mar while here as well, but the majority of his focus settled on finding the lying fucker who dared claim to a title that rightfully belonged to one of his dearest friends and a bright little boy. He didn’t even contemplate that the title might’ve referenced little Mar. That, out of everything, didn’t bare thinking about because the complication of _that_ wanted o make Sig sick.

Eventually the Wastelander reached the front of the crowd. He blinked once he noticed the Firecracker sitting among the slew of people that entered the Stadium not too long after the crowd of civilian volunteers arrived. She had a small computer in front of her and lacked the typical Underground apparel Sig had grown used to seeing on her. In fact she actually looked to be dressed in functional _highborn_ attire much to his surprise. The bright lines of yellow instantly caught his attention and he raised his eyebrow in surprise and curiosity. Beside her stood Jak’s female friend Hot Sauce (not that he’d ever call that to her face, or Jak’s for that matter) who leaned over and pointed out something to Firecracker. She also wore something that looked like functional highborn attire with lines of bright green.

A little ways further Sig could see the Commander getting berated by the blond Cinnamon who held her hands on her hips, lips pressed thin. He didn’t look to be having a great time of it, and for a moment Sig wondered just what he did to get read the riot act—because that _definitely_ was the riot act. Sia’d took the same stance to Damas enough times for Sig to know that exactly what being read the riot act looked like. Heck she’d done the same thing to him plenty of times too!

“Name,” Firecracker asked, gaze focused entirely on the computer in front of her

“Sig,” Sig drawled, and grinned when Firecracker jerked up in surprise and Hot Sauce twisted to stare at him curiously.

“Sig!” Firecracker got up and leaved over to give him a big hug with a wide smile. Sig noted that her eyes were no longer chocolate brown now that he could see them, but instead a shocking mix of fire-bright orange-gold. “Thanks for coming,” she said happily. “Skills?” She gave him a bit of a sly smile, already aware of his skillset.

Sig laughed. “Aw no problem firecracker. An’ you know, shootin’, heavy liftin’, and I’ve got some skill in medicine.”

Firecracker hummed and tapped twice at the computer.

“I’ll put you on assist then,” she said. “Supply runs, second gun if needed. Mostly moving eco barrels for now.”

Sig laughed heartily. “Sounds right up my alley!” He let his chuckles trail off and leaned forward. “Say….”

Firecracker looked up at him while Hot Sauce tapped something additional into the computer.

“…what’s up with this House Mar _thing_?” Sig finished, and he let a purely curious look cross his face. In a sudden response Firecracker’s smile turned plastic, and her form suddenly stiff. Her response threw Sig for an ever bigger loop, especially at the way it rang hollow to him.

“Haven business, Wastelander,” Firecracker chirped. Sig glanced to Hot Sauce and saw that she too suddenly closed off, gaze coldly calculative as she stared at him with a laser sort of focus that she didn’t have before. Sig shuddered faintly and wondered what he stepped in now by the girls two suddenly frosted looks. “Head to the left, over at the zoomer garages. Alain will direct you from there,” Firecracker finished, and called for the next person to come up.

Sig nodded and played oblivious to the sudden shut out. Once away from the two girls did he allow himself to frown. Something odd was up, eh could practically taste it, but he couldn’t put a name to whatever was going on. All he knew was that this whole mess didn’t sit well with him. He just hoped it didn’t really have anything to do with Mar. Damas’d have his head if Haven somehow crowned a five year old King. Contemplative, Sig drifted o the left side of the garages in search of this Alain who turned out to be an elder gentleman with a kindly smile. The man looked utterly pleased to see Sig walk up to him and cheerfully directed him toward the barrels of green eco.

“Third garage,” Alain said. “We’ve got five transports incoming, at least one dead.” Alain turned to greet the next volunteer happily while Sig stared after him perturbed, a barrel of eco in his arms.

Eventually the Wastelander shook himself and turned toward the garages themselves with a faint huff of, “Havenites.” Only these mad kangarats would be cheerful about a transport of dead. The barrel itself rested heasily enough on Sig’s shoulder once he hiked it up, so he made it a lazy stroll to the third garage and set the barrel down next to the others. He glanced around the place to see who happened to be in charge of this particular pit.

Daxter, the little Chili Pepper himself, scrambled around the floor with a broom and a mop both. He didn’t even glance up to say, “Thanks!” at the delivery of eco. Sig raised an eyebrow at the very focused ottsel teen. He’d only seen the boy this attentive when it came to combating metal bugs, or to handling Jak. After a moment Sig shook his head and turned to go back to Alain and get his next assignment when Daxter called out suddenly, “Jak! ETA?”

“Five minutes inbound,” Jak called back and slipped around the curtain at the back of the room. By this point Sig’d been halfway out the door and the sound of the Cherry’s voice had him half-turned back around to greet the teen when he froze stock still. The boy’s normally shaggy green hair was done up all neat in dreads and braided locks, and his clothes eerily reminded Sig of the work designs Damas used to wear before he realized layers in the desert wasn’t the smartest idea.

Cautiously Sig slipped back through the doorway enough that Jak couldn’t see him if he turned to glance at the entrance, but so that Sig himself could see the cherry conversing with the chili pepper.

Daxter set the broom and the mop down and trotted up to Jak. He looked the other teen up and down, tugged at the hem of the top until it rested straight under the channeler’s ring Jak always wore with a huff.

“I look ridiculous,” Jak grumbled. “I don’t know why they insist on this. I thought the whole idea _wasn’t_ to make it this obvious?”

“Well that was before the jerkface that outted ya, outted ya,” Daxter snapped back. “There. _Snazzy!_ Ya got the firestarters?”

Jak jerked his head back to the curtain. “Yeah. Lined up neatly, like Kiera directed. Also set out the camera and the scanner so we can try and get some ID’s for people.”

Daxter nodded. “Right. Well, floor’s clean and pit’s clear! When’s Keira gonna take command?”

“After the transport’s arrive,” Jak said softly. “C’mon Dax, let’s go check on the Stadium itself.”

“Puttin’ on a show, eh?” Daxter crowed teasingly and climbed onto Jak’s shoulder.

“You know I’d rather be shootin’ metal healds and not be all gussied up,” Jak grumbled annoyed. Sig started to back away and head towards Alain, mind whirling.

“I know big guy, I know,” he heard Daxter say before he completely lost earshot of the duo.

It didn’t hit Sig until he found himself lined up to get the next set of directions that Jak looked scarily like a young Damas. The coloring was more Wastelander, but the peach fuzz, the hair, and the cut of the clothes that the teen wore….

“You okay there?”

Sig jerked and glanced to Alain.

“Yeah,” he laughed and hid behind a passive smile and drawl that fooled every Havenite so far.

“Good! Garage two, right side!” Alain told him cheerfully.

Sig nodded and headed over to grab a barrel. He resolved to find a way to get the Cherry alone—he needed to figure this shit out. Maybe sneak out of the city and make sure Damas didn’t have any hidden cousins or something. He still didn’t quite believe the Chili Pepper’s story about time travel—far more likely the lads came from some behind-the-times village, probably in the Badlands. It’d explain a lot at least.

* * *

 

Koray slipped down into a maintenance line just outside of the Palace District. It’d taken him the better part of a day to unearth the best route into the Market District after the explosive aftermath of the meeting. He still felt bitter over being shut down by Alyín like he had, but Koray rolled with what the world gave him. Finally though after hours of research Koray did unearth all of the details he needed to plan the most expedient route to Onin’s hut, and perhaps the most safest.

Fingers grasped and reached into the bag that Koray held slung over one shoulder, eyes glowing a bright gold to help offset a little of the darkness around him. This shaft hadn’t been used in quite some time, and a good chunk of the power remained cut off since before Damas’ exile—even more power had been rerouted recently since the power station existed firmly in Metal Head territory now. With a huff Koray pulled out a small light stick and snapped the thing over his knee, forever grateful the phosphorescent light contained no eco—and thus would attract none of the monsters.

Koray raised the light high above his head, adjusted his pack, and unholstered a small yellow eco gun from his hip with his other hand. He moved slow, crouched low and cautious, with his ears perked right up to catch whatever sound he could. His gaze shifted around the line, searched through cables and wires and pipes just to be certain no bugs would surprise him. Sometimes the creatures wormed their way into maintenance lines like this one.

The line itself would pop back out into the Market District, specifically the Bazaar that Onin tended to reside her tent in. From the maps Koray obtained the line would open up about three blocks away from the open center that Onin resided. While Koray would’ve preferred to arrive right at Onin’s tent, three blocks was a better chance than traversing the whole District to get to her.

The slow pace between the Palace District and the Market District took upwards of an hour, but Koray considered it time well spent if it meant getting what Veger wanted—and avoiding the man being upset, _again._ With a grunt and a huff Koray shoved aside the paneling that led to the outside; first a crack to peer out of to make sure the sand streets were clear, and then the rest of the way so that he could slip out and find the nearest cover. He left his light behind in the maintenance line.

Cautiously, with gritted teeth, Koray picked his way around corpses and puddles of dark eco; fallen debris from the buildings, from product stands—from anything, really. The streets that were normally barren aside from traveling shoppers and KG patrols, were coated thick with obstructions of all kind. It made moving quickly a hassle, especially with the amount of puddles of dark eco that lingered about like a bad smell. Eventually he did make his way to cover and peered out around the corner. Thankfully the coast remained clear and quickly Koray moved to his next hiding spot down the block. He eased himself towards the next turn.

Three blocks; two to the left, one right. That was the route to Onin’s tent from what he could remember. Koray crouched low, crawled under some boxes, and listened intently. By the soft crunch of debris and sand, Metal Heads moved a block over. They moved slow, it sounded a bit like a sweep—some sort of patrol? Koray glanced down the street, wormed his way out from his cover, and dashed to the other side. He slipped and ducked and weaved to the next corner and huddle under an easement and between more debris to peer around the next corner.

 _There they were_. The beasts swept back and forth; their movements were slow, steady. They were on a patrol, and the oddity of that struck Koray hard. He frowned. Without Kor the creatures should be more disorganized—in fact all reports indicated they were a mess without the influence of their Queen. It’d been suggested that the creatures had a hive mind like whumpbee’s did. Perhaps all research into the beasts wasn’t entirely accurate, since the research _had_ been done when Kor still lived. Perhaps the hive mind they observed in fact wasn’t quite a hive mind at all. Could the disorganization have been temporary?

Everyone honestly didn’t know what the death of a Metal Head Queen would do to the masses, so, Koray mused, anything could be possible. They could be more adaptive than anyone realized. Koray breathed in slowly and refocused his attention. He could ponder Metal Head biology later, get together with a few other like-minded scientists and review the data again. For now Koray needed to get to Onin.

The patrol swept past him, and Koray waited until they’d turned the opposite direction he needed. He waited a good deal longer than that, even, to be assured they wouldn’t even have the chance to see him before he dashed into the open. Once more he ducked and weaved in and out of cover until he reached the next corner. There he wiggled again under and between more debris to hide while he assessed the next block.

Within seconds after Koray settled a heavy Metal Head foot slapped down right by his head. Koray held his breath and glanced upwards as best he could—two more sets of feet landed down in front of him. A patrol of three, then. He grimaced. The beast shifted in the sand and muck—dried blood, dark eco, destroyed bits of fruit. The fragrance stung Koray’s nose and he wondered if Onin even had a sense of smell after so long among rotting corpses.

No matter. Carefully Koray absorbed the creature, watched it twist its head. The three Metal Heads sniffed at the air, growled to one another in some sort of guttural language. They could _speak_ and that tossed out the theory that Kor provided them some semblance of intelligence. Koray tightened his grip on his gun. He didn’t want to use it, didn’t want to risk drawing more attention, but if he was discovered….

Quite suddenly the beasts took off at a run, loud howls that sent chills down Koray’s spine echoed along the empty streets. A distant scream pierced his ears. Koray winced, wiggled and tugged himself from his cover, and bolted. He abandoned all pretense of hiding among the dead and destruction. Instead he raced straight around the corner, skidded through dark eco and dried blood and who knows what else. He could see the tent, dove, and rolled right through the front flaps. Koray twisted around fluidly and raised his gun towards the entrance, breath heavy, and waited.

Nothing.

“What in the _hell!?_ ” Pecker squawked in a whispered sort of hiss. The sudden vocalized noise startled Koray and he twisted around again, gun now aimed at Pecker, wild-eyed. “Who’re _you_?” the bird demanded.

“Rescue,” Koray snapped, then sighed and holstered his weapon.

“Where’s Jak?!”

“Not coming.” The words were clipped and sneered. Koray shifted his gaze to Onin and dismissed the bird easily enough. “Veger wants you.”

For a moment silence engulfed the hut, and then Onin nodded once. With a creak of aged joints she climbed to her feet. Normally Onin would’ve merely float upon her seat, but the discus required a concentrated effort of eco to do so, and with Metal Heads about in abundance such danger was foolhardy.

Koray grimaced as Onin hobbled closer. He calculated the distance, the screams, and the speed of the patrols from what little he’d seen. Onin would slow matters down considerably, and Koray doubted her aged frame could easily fit into the hiding places he did. They’d be more exposed, especially with the old woman’s pace, but Koray kept his mouth shut and peered through the tent flap, gun once more unholstered.

“Onin,” Pecker hissed. He settled upon her shoulder and fell quiet. Koray pulled himself back into the tent and glanced at the duo.

“Come on,” he said sharply, “it’s clear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta a question or something? Maybe an idea? [Check out my tumblr.](http://xadoheandterra.tumblr.com)  
> [](https://ko-fi.com/A8841WGS)


End file.
